31 Days Of Christmas
by Hisa-Ai
Summary: Day 31: Merlin and Arthur welcome in the New Year with all their friends.
1. Snowball Fight

**I decided to do a 31 Days of Christmas thing for Merlin. I found a couple of lists of Christmas prompts and have planned accordingly. There will probably be more than 31 chapters to this, just because I liked every prompt I came across and had a hard time really narrowing it down, but you'll get one chapter a day, and some days you'll get two; on those days you should consider yourselves lucky that I love this fandom so much. **

**Roughly half of these are going to be canonverse, and the other half modern day. The modern day ones will be more Merthury than the canonverse ones. I don't really know why, that's just how it turned out. No one's evil in the canonverse ones. If Morgana is mentioned she's not evil, Arthur is king in some of these, prince in others, no one's married unless it's said or heavily implied. They are _very_ loosely connected, and should be considered separate entities from each other unless otherwise stated.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Merlin. If I did, do you think _this_ is where we would be having this conversation? No? I didn't think so.

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_31 Days of Christmas  
**  
**_**Day 1:****  
**_Snowball Fight_

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**Fic:**

The first snowfall of the winter months was often met with dread and wonder, discontent and glee—a mixed bag of emotions all across the land no matter one's age. It was certainly a sight to behold, at least. Almost a foot of snow blanketed the kingdom that morning not a month before Yule, the sun glinting off the white wonder in a beautiful way that almost made the bitter cold worth it to some.

Arthur, of course, didn't care how it looked or how it brought such joy to the children out playing in it or how it gave the cool morning air even more bite than usual.

No, all that he cared about was Merlin. And the fact that he was _missing. _Or at least he better bloody be for missing work without warning.

Arthur had woken up late, with no breakfast, had to dress himself, find where all his things were and where Merlin might have left them all by himself…

And then, forgetting about whatever work he was supposed to be doing, he stalked through the castle, checking everywhere he could think to look for Merlin. But he wasn't with Gaius or Gwen or in the kitchen or armory, the tavern was closed, he wasn't lurking about…

After wasting away the whole morning looking for his manservant and growing angrier and hungrier with every second that he couldn't find him, Arthur decided at last to seek out the knights of his round table. Merlin _was_ good friends with them; perhaps one of them might know something.

But his knights were no where to be found either. And it wasn't as though any of them were meant to leave the castle that day…

No, this had Merlin written all over it. That much he was sure of.

Deciding to try his luck around the courtyard, Arthur followed the sounds of laughter and the hollering of what _sounded_ _like_ grown men until he found his knights and manservant just near the edge of the caste.

They were playing around in the snow like _children!_ Making snow angels and building forts and—ugh, the _audacity!_ He had a _kingdom_ to run, _people_ to protect, and his best men were wasting valuable training time running around like giant five year olds?

_Fine_, if they wanted to act like children, he could act like one, too.

Ducking quickly out of sight before they could spot him, Arthur made quick work of the snow around him, stocking snow packed into perfect spheres next to him. Making sure they still hadn't seem him, he then pelted them with the snowballs, hitting Merlin and Gwaine in the back of the head before taking cover once more.

After getting the rest of his men—terrible reflexes they were showing. Even _Merlin_ managed to duck more than them once he grasped the situation—they all piled up their own snow balls and were on him in seconds, all surprised but still unrelenting when they found out it was their king who had attacked them.

The rest of the day was spent running about like children in knight clothing, pelting each other with snowballs and declaring war and revenge when a fort was taken out or claimed in Percival's name or Merlin's.

They all stumbled into the castle soaked and halfway frozen to death at the end of the day, but the berating and terrible medicine given to them by Gaius was worth it when they all collapsed, half-naked, on the floor in Gaius' chambers in a fit of giggles.

Arthur forgot all about being mad at Merlin for ditching work that day. Acting like the child they still were inside seemed to do that to a person.

**Fin.**

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**Just because I haven't got enough on my plate writing-wise—insert sarcastic eyeroll here—if there are any Christmasy prompts you want me to tackle, leave it in a review, a PM, or hit me up on tumblr, my name there is hisa-ai.**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	2. Christmas Trees

**My first attempt at a modern day Merlin fic. So, you know, be gentle.**

**Disclaimer: **Pssh, if you think I've somehow gained the rights to _Merlin_ in the last 24 hours, you must be _nuts_, kid.

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_31 Days Of Christmas_

**Day 2:**  
_Christmas Tree._

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**Fic:**

"Arthur, this is stupid!" Merlin whined, resisting Arthur's tug on his hand and dragging his heels through the freshly fallen snow. Arthur rolled his eyes and grinned back at him, tugging still on his hand to drag him deeper through the Christmas tree lot.

Merlin was there against his will, having been tricked into the car and then blackmailed out of it once they arrived at the destination. A place Merlin hated and saw little point in: A Christmas tree farm.

Arthur had been begging and plotting and threatening and bargaining and trying every other trick in the book to get Merlin to get a _real_ Christmas tree for years now, but every year Merlin made a better case than Arthur—both in _and_ outside of the bedroom—and they stuck with the faux trees and a slightly disgruntled Arthur.

But this year, oh _this year_ Arthur had resisted Merlin's persuasion, had kept away from the discussions and arguments and had just _acted_. He just went for what he wanted without so much as a hint or suggestion that this year would be any different from years passed. And if Merlin weren't so utterly _floored_ by the situation, he might have been impressed by it.

"Come on, _Mer_lin. One year will not kill you." Arthur insisted, still tugging Merlin forward as he gave nearby trees passing glances.

"No, just a tree." Merlin grumbled in response, yanking his hand out of Arthur's grasp and shoving it into his jeans pocket. He knew enough to realize he wasn't going to win this one—not this time, not now that they were actually at the lot—that Arthur was finally going to get the real Christmas tree he had always wanted. But he didn't have to like it.

"If we don't buy it, someone else will anyway," Arthur pointed out, stopping to inspect a tree on his right. "At least with us it'll have a good home."

Merlin rolled his eyes as he strolled over to Arthur's side and matched his pace as he moved on to a new one. Absentmindedly, Arthur looped his arm through Merlin's and tucked his hand into his pocket, weaving amongst the trees connected.

"We're buying a Christmas tree, not adopting from a puppy mill, you dollop-head." Merlin sighed.

Arthur grinned once again at his words, and Merlin found himself thinking that if looking at Christmas trees was all it took for Arthur to light up like that, he should look into starting his own tree lot next year.

"So we _are_ getting one!" Arthur exclaimed, triumphant.

"Yes, _fine_, we might as well since we're already here anyway," he sighed again, grinning himself when Arthur turned and pressed a kiss to his lips before going back to looking through the trees. All around them, there were other couples and families inspecting trees as well, all giddy with the excitement of picking out a tree and getting it home to decorate.

Of course, the main difference between the people around them and _them_ was that everyone else seemed to know what they were doing. Having never had a real Christmas tree before—Merlin's mother didn't like cleaning up all the pine needles that inevitably got everywhere and Arthur's sister Morgana was allergic to them—neither of them knew what they were doing. If Arthur was going to pull something like this, the least he could have done was brought Gwaine or Lancelot or someone who knew what they were doing so they didn't look too stupid.

"Do you even know what you're looking for?" Merlin asked after several minutes of Arthur glancing at trees that all looked the same to Merlin anyway and moving on, mumbling under his breath about fullness and loss of needles and sap for some unholy reason that Merlin didn't quite want to ask about.

"A Christmas tree. Honestly, Merlin, don't you pay any attention?" Arthur chided playfully, coming to stop in front of a tree that seemed to have caught his eye. Merlin didn't get _why_, as it seemed like every other tree they'd seen so far, but Arthur seemed to like it. He unhooked his arm from Merlin's and walked around it, pursing his lips as he reached out and touched the bark, the needles, shook the tree, inspected it from every angle possible until finally he turned back to Merlin with a wide smile on his face, arms outstretched as though presenting it to him.

"This is it, Merlin. This is our tree," he explained when he was met with a blank stare. Merlin approached the tree slowly and looked at it. There was nothing different about this one, nothing that made it stand out from all the others, so what the hell did Arthur love so much about it?

"You're sure?" Merlin asked.

"'Course I am. Isn't it beautiful? Don't you think it'll look lovely in the sitting room?"

"_Lovely?_ Did you just use the word _lovely_ to describe a tree? Are you feeling all right? Sure you're not allergic, too? That sort of thing runs in families, you know." Merlin said, still not quite getting it. It was a _tree_ and Arthur was acting like it was the goblet of life itself.

"It's our first real Christmas tree, Merlin, don't you want it to be special?" Arthur demanded, suddenly offended. Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that would make the situation no better. He was upset that Merlin wasn't as passionate about a Christmas tree as he was? Merlin might have to check on the eggnog when they returned home to see just how much of the stuff Arthur had been drinking...

"Yeah, sure, I guess," he shrugged, pretending to inspect the tree as Arthur had.

"_Mer_lin, come on, don't you like it? If you don't like it we can find another one," Arthur offered.

"No, no, it's... it's _fine_, Arthur. Let's just get it and go," he jerked his head towards the way they'd come.

"What's wrong with it?" Arthur sighed.

"Nothing, Arthur, _nothing_. It's beautiful and lovely and all that fun stuff. You picked the perfect tree, okay?" Merlin insisted, trying to placate him so they could just _go_. He didn't know why he was so ready to leave all of a sudden, why he was pulling a stunt like this; two minutes ago he'd actually been having a nice time walking around with Arthur at his side, looking at the trees that all looked the same, moreorless.

Arthur pulled a face, lips pursed once again as he stood with his hands on his hips and considered Merlin and the tree.

Merlin blinked, and then he was on the ground, having been tackled by Arthur onto the cold ground that was only sort of blanketed with soft snow that somehow didn't knock the breath out of him.

"_What—_"

"Tell me what's wrong with the tree, Merlin, or so help me I will shove snow down your pants," Arthur threatened, scooping up a handful of powder white snow from next to Merlin's head.

Merlin's eyes widened, not sure if he'd really do it or not. He'd shoved snow down the back of his shirt plenty of times before, as Merlin had done to him, but the only time he'd ever shoved snow down his pants was when Merlin had left the garage door open on accident and Arthur's prized motorcycle was stolen. It was later returned by Gwaine, who had taken it to teach them not to leave their doors open, but Merlin still remembered that day with horror. Never before had he felt such a bitter cold pain, and he never again did he want to.

But would Arthur really do that to him? Over a _tree?_

Yes. Probably _yes_.

"_Nothing_. There's nothing wrong with the tree, Arthur." Merlin gasped, eyeing the snow still in Arthur's hand.

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked suspiciously, inching the snow nearer and nearer to the waistband of his jeans.

"Yes, yes—I'm _sure, _Arthur. Now let me up." Merlin insisted, swallowing as Arthur inched his shirt and jacket up a bit. Some of the snow slipped from his hand and fell on Merlin's exposed skin, making him gasp in surprise at the contact with his warm skin. He hissed when Arthur wouldn't wipe it away, when he wouldn't let his hands move to wipe it away on his own. Sadistic bastard.

"Sure?" he asked again.

"_Yes_. It's the best tree in the universe and only one with your eye could have spotted it. We'll get it and take it home and build a shrine around it attesting to your perfection and grace, all right? Now let me _up_," Merlin repeated, rolling his eyes in agitation when Arthur just 'hmm'ed at him and positioned himself so he was straddling Merlin. He let the snow fall from his hand to the ground, narrowly missing Merlin's hip, and grinned suddenly. Merlin swallowed, ah, he recognized _that_ look...

Slowly, Arthur leaned down and placed his cold and wet gloved hand on Merlin's cheek, felt him shiver under his touch and kissed him slowly, deeply.

"Not so sure about putting the shrine around the tree. In the bedroom maybe, or the dining room, but not by the tree; I want people to see it in all its glory," he grinned against Merlin's lips before drawing him to him again, catching his lower lip between both of his. Merlin just shook his head, mumbled an insult against his lips before letting his eyes slip shut and Arthur tangle one of his hands in his hair.

Sensing an opportunity, Merlin let his free hand work around in the snow near him, grabbed a handful and then—

"_Ahem_," An elderly male voice interrupted from just behind them. Arthur popped up and off Merlin in a flash, leaving Merlin with a handful of snow and no one to use it against. Frowning, he let his hand fall to the ground and watched Arthur approach the man he recognized from the front of the lot, the one who was running the place

"Right, uhm, we'll take this one." Arthur gestured at the tree he'd picked out, and then haggled the price with the man, giving Merlin no help in pulling himself to his feet and dusting whatever snow hadn't already soaked through his clothes off.

_Well_, if that was how tree shopping was going to go, Merlin might just have to start insisting on going _every_ year.

**Fin.**

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**Personally, I've no opinion on Christmas tree lots and I really know little about the subject, but for the sake of this fic, let's just pretend that Merlin and Arthur know more than I and that Merlin is none too fond of them. **

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai**


	3. Christmas List

**I'm not too sure on the specifics of what went down and what holidays were celebrated in Arthur's day, but they mentioned and celebrated Beltane and Samhain on the show, so I went ahead and assumed they did Yule and Christmastide as well. If they mentioned whether they celebrated them in the show or not, I don't remember, so let's just assume they did it anyway.**

**Disclaimer: **No, see, if I owned _Merlin_, the writing on the show wouldn't have been such crap in the later seasons. Like, no offense to anyone, but the writers really didn't seem to know what they were doing towards the end there. I would not have let it get that bad. Just saying. Also a Merthur canon kiss would have happened, but that's neither here nor there.

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_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 3:**  
_Christmas Lists_

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**Fic:**

Growing up in Ealdor hadn't provided the most pleasant childhood ever, but it was all Merlin had ever known, so it was enough. Amongst everything that was always going on in their humble village, his mother always managed to make the hard times pleasant and keep the worse times hopeful, making it all the better than it might have otherwise been.

Holidays, Sabbats, were always hardest. There was hardly enough to go around during the normal days, so when Yule and Beltane and Samhain and all other such days came around and there were tales of feasts and celebrations in far-off lands, morale tended to be at the lowest. Especially for those not quite old enough to understand why they were not allowed to celebrate as those in their stories did.

And when Merlin was of the age when he started to understand things better, he accepted the reality with heavy shoulders and clear eyes, as all children in Ealdor eventually did.

Hunith saw through him, however, saw how he wanted to be able to celebrate as those outside the village did, and made it her goal, as all mothers did, to keep him happy and his young spirit unbroken and hopeful.

So she started little traditions that slowly spread throughout the village when Merlin was young.

He had found the request odd the first time his mother had put parchment and quill in front of him and told him to write down everything he would like, in a perfect world, to have happen or just _have_ by the end of the 12 Days of Christmastide.

It was odd, but he did it anyway. He wrote down how he'd like to see his mother happy again, how he'd like to have more fun with Will, how he'd like to be welcome and accepted for who he was, how he'd like life to just be easier for him and his mother…

Once he was satisfied that he'd gotten it all down on paper, he took it to his mother, watched her read it over with soft, sad eyes, and then throw it into the fire, leaving him rather confused. Why make him go through all that if she was simply going to destroy it afterwards?

She explained to him, then, that the point was to release all one's hopes and dreams from inside their heart and get it out on paper, then let it out into the world by burning it to manifest in its own time and with God's will. All it took, she told him, to make his dreams all come true was to give them space, freedom, and time.

As he grew up, he learned that maybe everything she told him wasn't completely true and that dreams were a luxury for people better off than him, and anyway, they required more energy and effort than he had left at the end of the day. But still, in the spirit of Yule and everything his mother had ever done for him, every year after the first snowfall, he sat down and he wrote his list and then burned it in private.

This year, he had almost decided against making and burning a list—surely, he was getting much too old for such things—but when the first snow fall came, he felt a familiar tugging in his chest, his fingers itching to pour his heart out onto something none but him would see anyway.

But, for a few days, he ignored it, left without much time on his hands to do it anyway.

Until a meeting at the round table that he was invited to sit in on. It was rare, but sometimes Arthur invited him to sit next to him during a meeting he was sure was going to run long. They were usually dull and of little interest to him, but at least he was able to sit through it instead of standing nearby with a pitcher of water to refill goblets.

This particular meeting proved to be just as boring as Merlin expected it to be, and not even half-way through it, he felt his fingers itching towards the paper and quill he was always provided with when invited to sit in on meetings. He was to take notes, if he felt it necessary, but Arthur never held him or anyone else to thought. He knew how boring the meetings could prove to be and he didn't want to make it any worse than it already was for anyone.

So when Merlin gave in to the itch and began to furiously scribble away on the parchment, Arthur's eyes darted to him with suspicion and curiosity, ignoring whatever it was Leon was going on about as he watched him for a moment. Merlin knew then, as he wrote down what he would have, in a perfect world—once Albion was created, maybe?—that if there weren't so many eyes on them, the king would have snatched the parchment up like a child to see what was being written on it.

So he mentioned nothing of his magic or wanting it to be accepted within the kingdom. Just in case he gave in to the urge once they were alone again.

As the meeting ended and most of the knights filed out—leaving just Leon, Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, Lancelot, and of course Arthur—Merlin was still scribbling away, lost in rhythm and memory and nostalgia. He had done this every year since he was a child, but he couldn't quite recall a time when it truly felt so freeing and exhilarating and satisfying. Maybe he just had more to get out this year, or maybe it was something else entirely, something he couldn't quite place his finger on.

"_Mer_lin," Arthur said at last when he paid him no mind, despite his eyes burning holes into his head.

"Hm?" Merlin asked back, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing."

"Yes, I can see that, but… _why?_ _What _are you doing?" Arthur asked pointedly.

Merlin dropped the quill to the parchment and sighed, looked back at the knights gathered around him. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure himself what he was doing or why, just that it needed to be done. He didn't expect any of them to understand. In fact, he expected a fair deal of ridicule and mocking, but…

"It's stupid," he said at last, looking down at the words he'd written on the page. And they were very stupid indeed, the things he had written down, but they were in his heart, and that was the point, his mother had taught him. He would not be ashamed of that.

"I've no doubt about that since it's coming from _you_," Arthur teased, nudging Merlin's shoulder with his own in a sign of good nature. "But what _is_ it?" he asked again

"Just… something from my childhood. Something my mother always had me do this time of year." Merlin replied vaguely, hoping against logic that Arthur would accept that and let it go. Then again, he should have known his king better than that by now, should have known that would just make him even more curious about it

"_What is it?_" Arthur asked, reaching around Merlin to try to take the parchment from him. Merlin slapped his hand away without thinking of the consequences, and Arthur gave him an incredulous look that would have meant a smack upside the head under normal circumstances, but since Merlin still hadn't told him what he wanted to know, he was safe. For now

"I'll tell you, _if_ you promise not to laugh," he offered slowly, not sure why he wanted such a promise but holding out for it regardless.

Arthur pursed his lips and looked back to his knights, looking for confirmation and solidarity, no doubt. Apparently finding what he was looking for, he turned back to Merlin and nodded, a taunt smile on his face

"All right, I give you my sacred word as king of Camelot that I will not laugh. Now _tell_ _me_." He insisted.

"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better," Merlin grumbled, looking at Arthur with the distrust of a grimy child. But Arthur looked back at him with what resembled patience and sincerity. And anyway, there was no way he was leaving that room without Arthur finding out, one way or another. Might was well do it the easy way

"You've been to Ealdor, Arthur," Merlin said at last, addressing only him, though some of the other knights had been as well. "You know what things are like, how there's barely enough to go around even during the best of times."

"Yes, but what—"

"It's no different during the Sabbats." He interrupted impatiently. "You might be used to celebrations and feasts, but not everyone is so fortunate. We had very little, but my mother… She always wanted to make them special; she always wanted to make sure I didn't have to be… She didn't want me to listen to the stories of a spoiled rotten prince gorging himself every night and feel bad about where we were, so… she started these little traditions to keep me busy, to keep me happy," he picked up the quill and stabbed at the paper absentmindedly to make a point.

He pursed his lips, looked off for a moment, recalling the years that had passed and the wonders they had brought. His mother truly was a wonderful woman. He should pay her a visit soon.

"What were these traditions?" Arthur prompted like an impatient child.

"Mmmm, on Beltane," Merlin began once more, turning back to Arthur. "Will and I would go to these fields just outside the village and pick flowers, bring them back to the village and give some to all the girls and women. We would save the best ones for our mothers and anyone we happened to fancy at the time," he grinned and shook his head, eyes crinkled with the old memories of his best friend he rarely allowed himself anymore as the knights chuckled behind him.

"And, uhm," he shook himself out of his reprieve, his tone softer now. "Just before Yule, just after the first snowfall of the season, she would have me sit down and write up a list," he tapped the paper again, not bothering to elaborate.

"A list? Of what?" Arthur asked curiously.

"Of the things we want."

"I don't understand."

"No, you wouldn't." Arthur shot him a look, which he rolled his eyes at before explaining the lists to him just as his mother had first explained it to him and then adding in his own thoughts on the subject that had come with age. He felt rather silly saying it aloud in front of the King and Knights of Camelot, but since they were his friends he did it anyway. If they hadn't been, he might not have bothered at all.

"I wasn't going to do it this year," Merlin admitted when Arthur nodded at his explanation and shared memories, his face pensive in an almost scary sort of way.

"Why not?" Elyan asked from behind him, the first one other than himself or Arthur to say anything since the meeting had let out.

"Dunno, just… felt a bit old to be doing it, I suppose," he shrugged. "But… old habits, I guess. I've done it every year since I was five, after all. I guess it just… makes me feel more at home." Merlin admitted, more to himself than the others. Was that why he still did it? To feel closer to his mother, to Will, to the good times he had had, despite everything that had happened in Ealdor? He supposed it made some sort of sense, if he thought about it. He enjoyed his life in Camelot—well, as much as one could enjoy being Arthur Pendragon's manservant, anyway—but sometimes he did long for the simpler days of childhood. Nostalgia might do that to a person, Gaius had told him once.

"You don't feel at home here?" Lancelot asked him, his tone worried.

"Sometimes, no."

"But you've got us." Gwaine said, almost offended.

"You guys are friends, sure, but, at the end of the day, I'm just a servant and you lot are the knights and king of Camelot. I say something you don't like and suddenly you're pulling rank on me. Never means much, of course," he added as an afterthought, remembering all the times he'd gone against orders and wishes to do what he knew to be right. "But it doesn't feel like something a friend should do,"

"You'd rather be in Ealdor?" Percival asked suddenly. "In _Cenred's_ kingdom? Doesn't Arthur treat you well?"

"Sorry, have you seen the way he treats me? Always throwing goblets at my head and threatening to have me banished and thrown in the stocks—not very friendly by my definition," Merlin teased, nudging Arthur the way he had done to him not too long ago.

Arthur rolled his eyes, half-smiling as he said, "You didn't answer the question, _Mer_lin."

"Would I rather be in Ealdor? Sometimes, yeah. Doesn't matter that it's in Cenred's kingdom, that I was always an outsider there anyway; it's home. Where I grew up, where my mother is, where Will… Well, where Will _was_." Merlin said with little humor, almost sighing with the memories and nostalgia he was feeling. He'd rather be at Gaius' having these thoughts, holed up in his room with his list and memories, burning it, letting the thoughts drift away without having to give them the light of day. They didn't hold as much weight when they were just thoughts, after all. They weighed him down once he said them aloud, when he shared them with people. But Arthur…

"Give me some paper, Merlin." Arthur said suddenly, reaching out and yanking a blank sheet of the parchment from under Merlin's list when he didn't comply quickly enough. He snagged a quill from nearby and spread the paper out on the table then, bent over and went to work.

"What are you doing?" Merlin asked curiously, watching as Arthur's hand danced across the sheet, scribbling out words Merlin could just barely make out in his chicken scratch.

"If writing a _list_ is all it takes to make you feel at home," he said, glancing up at him. "Then consider this the start of our own little tradition in the castle." And then he turned his attention back to the paper without another word, focusing instead on the words he was putting down.

Merlin was shocked, speechless with Arthur's gesture. He hadn't been… Why would Arthur… All to make _him_ feel more at home?

He was about to say something—thank you, perhaps? Or that he didn't need to do this for him. Or… _something_—but the knights behind him suddenly starting moving around, all grabbing parchment and quills of their own and taking their seats at the table once more, the gesture more than enough to make Merlin's heart swell and his grin stay put for a while.

Later that night, when all the lists were written and Merlin was grateful that they were such great friends, they went outside to where Arthur started a small fire and burned them, all united, all sealing the beginnings of a new tradition in Camelot.

**Fin.**

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**Eck, this chapter is rubbish, but you'll just have to deal with it for now.**

**Just so you guys know, this turned out way differently than I planned for it to. Like, my original thought was for Merlin to just kind of forget the list somewhere Arthur would see it and then have to explain it to him and did I mentioned that Merlin would have something about Arthur written on the list that he would have had to explain? It was supposed to be awkward and cute, but then I sat down and started typing and, well, you know how _that_ goes.**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	4. Candlelight

**This one is modern day, and if we could all go ahead and pretend that it _isn't_ quite a few hours late, I'd _really_ appreciate it. Please and thank you!**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Merlin. I'm running out of witty ways to get the point across, actually. It's a rather unnerving prospect, you know...

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_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 4:**  
_Candlelight._

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**Fic:**

Sunday nights were reserved for relaxing and reading, catching up on television and drinking tea with thoughtlessness as they curled up with their laptops and books on the couch. It was a night for preparing themselves mentally for the workweek ahead of them and spending time with one another in the calm bubble of their own home.

So. That had been what Arthur and Merlin were doing. Each with a cup of tea near them, Arthur was watching some television show Merlin didn't quite care for and browsing some website he swore he wasn't addicted to while Merlin flipped through a few books, doing some research on a topic that he'd come across at work and had become curious about.

It was barely seven o'clock, but since it was nearing winter, it had grown dark out ages ago, and the sky was covered beautifully in storm clouds, with snow falling heavily upon the city and their house. They were meant to get quite a few inches, but it wasn't much cause for concern seeing as how they always got quite a bit of snow this time of year.

They were quite content with it, really, and the feeling it gave them to look out the window absentmindedly every few moments and see the snowflakes coming down, piling up gracefully everywhere the eye could see.

Until the lights and television and everything else in the house flicked off at once. Arthur's eyes were still glued to his laptop screen, seemingly oblivious to the situation until Merlin hissed, "Bloody _hell_," and snapped his book closed. "_Arthur." _He reached around in the dark, closed whatever other books that were sprawled on the couch between them and nudged his arm, alerting him to the darkness around them.

"What the _hell_," he looked up, towards the television. "_Mer_lin, what did you do?" he asked, astonished at the harsh darkness against his bright laptop screen.

Arthur's face was illuminated with the faint glow of his laptop; Merlin could see _him_, but Arthur couldn't see the glare he was giving him as he indignantly said, "_Me? _Why would—_how_ would I have—it's the storm, you clotpole. Power must have gone out." He smacked his arm and reached around in the darkness for his cell phone, left lying dangerously close to his tea.

He stared at the screen, saw a handful of texts from Gwaine and Percival and everyone else on the street they knew suddenly pop up. He shot off a few replies, confirming his suspicion. "Power's out on the whole block," he said then with a sigh.

He heard Arthur sigh in response and log off his computer, shutting it down with reluctance. He must have forgotten to charge it, Merlin realized with a grin. At least he wouldn't be alone in his boredom and misery, then.

"We'll need candles and blankets, then," Arthur sighed once more, carefully moving from the couch and placing his laptop on the table just in front of them. "You all right with camping out on the couch until the power comes back on?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "I'll get the blankets, you fetch those candles from the cupboard. Damn, guess it _wasn't_ such a bad idea to stock up on those." He grumbled, walking off to get the blankets off their bed and the hall closet.

Merlin grinned and stood from the couch, getting the candles and returning with them not a moment later. Lucky for them, Merlin had insisted upon buying a plethora of all different sorts of candles last they were out, for situations such as these. Arthur had resisted, saying that the power wouldn't go out any time soon. And how he hated being _wrong_.

Still grinning with superiority, Merlin went about the room with the collection of candles in his arms and left them lit on the tables and television stand, then went and placed some in the kitchen as well, just in case they needed to get something to eat or drink before the power came back on. He hoped it wouldn't be out too long; he had some food in the fridge that he didn't want to go bad…

Just as he settled back in on the couch, candles lighting the whole room up in a blissfully medieval and romantic way, Arthur came back into the room with an armful of all the different sorts of blankets and quilts they owned. Grumbling under his breath about storms and stupid eye-candy knowing more than they should, he dropped them to the floor, picked the top one up and spread it over Merlin. He picked up one more and threw it on top as well and then took his seat next to him, getting quite comfortable under the blanket as he snuggled close to him.

"What do you want to do to pass the time?" Merlin asked then, raking his hand through Arthur's hair as he grinned at him suggestively.

"I can think of a few things…"

"Mmm, not _that_. Next time think better before calling me an idiot for insisting we get so many candles at once," he teased, laughing when Arthur pouted back at him.

"Well what else is there to _do?_" he whined. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"We could talk? No, but that would require too much effort on your part, wouldn't it? Wouldn't want you to think too much and blow a fuse—power's already gone out." He teased again, ignoring the look in Arthur's eyes that said he wanted to retaliate but was much too comfortable pressed against Merlin's side to risk losing it. "We could read. I've got plenty of books around here." He suggested then, reaching for a book he'd left on the back of the couch.

"But those are all boring Merlin-y books. Haven't you got any fiction around here?" Arthur asked, waving off the book Merlin offered him.

"Yes, _but,_" Merlin pursed his lips. "They're on the bookshelf and, well, that would mean I'd have to get up." He said, pointing out the obvious problem. Arthur whined once again but swung himself into a sitting position on the couch anyway, much to Merlin's surprise. He hadn't expected Arthur to be so willing to let him leave the couch. Maybe he was just bored then, without his laptop and TV to entertain him.

Still, Merlin threw the blanket back and braved the suddenly chilly air—damn, he should have insisted upon some sort of heater that would run when the power was out as well—walked over to the bookshelf and grabbed the first one that caught his eye. Walking quickly back over to the couch, he shot Arthur a look of dissatisfaction when he saw he'd taken Merlin's seat. Arthur grinned back and held the blanket open, inviting Merlin to join him.

"Prat." Merlin grumbled, settling in on the couch and under the blanket once again. He stretched out, head resting on the arm and poking out of the blanket and using Arthur's lap as a chair.

"Love you, too, you idiot," Arthur sighed, leaning to press a kiss to the crook of Merlin's neck. Merlin sighed with the sensation and held the book up for Arthur to inspect.

"Does this please his royal highness?" he asked mockingly. Arthur just nodded, probably not even bothering to read the title.

"Read it to me?" Arthur asked, stifling a yawn. Merlin rolled his eyes, not bothering with any sort of witty retort about him behaving like a child. He cracked the book open and squinted against the harsh light given off by the nearby candles. It set quite a romantic mood, but hurt his eyes to read by before they adjusted to it.

"'There are those who say the stories in this book are entirely fiction, others who say there are some truths simply veiled in an attempt to keep the true history of the United Kingdom hidden to those who would abuse the knowledge,'" Merlin read, going on for a long while then, reading steadily and in a tone that soothed both men. With Arthur's hand lost in his hair and along the side of his face, Merlin's voice soon trailed off, having grown heavy with sleep for a good ten minutes before the book finally fell from his grasp and landed on his face.

Arthur smiled softly and picked up the book, closed it and let it fall to the floor next to him. Carefully, he placed a gentle kiss to Merlin's lips and then leaned back on the couch, settled in and let himself drift off to sleep as well, not caring in the least that they would both probably over-sleep in the morning.

**Fin.**

* * *

**Ten points to the house who correctly guesses what sort of book Merlin was reading from. I just made up that intro sentence, of course, but still: ten points to whoever can figure out what sort of book it might have been.**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	5. Shiver

**Disclaimer: **Maybe if I were a Ravenclaw, I might have figured out how to go about owning _Merlin_ by now, but alas I am a Gryffindor, so rest assured I haven't figured it out just yet.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 5:**_  
Shiver_

* * *

**Fic:**

It was rather unfortunate, but Uther had insisted that Arthur lead a patrol to investigate claims of Cenred and his men causing trouble in their land. With the threat of a winter storm looming, Arthur had tried to have the trip postponed by a day or two to decrease the chances of being caught in it, but his father would not hear of it; as long as they were back by nightfall, they could avoid the storm and all would be well, his father had told him before sending him off to prepare for the trip.

They had tried, had moved quickly and made quick work of Cenred's men, but on their way back to the castle, the storm had caught up with them, forcing them to stop and make camp for the night.

With the temperature dropping and the snow starting to pile up, whipping up in their faces every so often before calming down without warning or explanation, Arthur was glad, for him and his knights, that they had so many layers on and that their capes were warm and Merlin's dinner was warmer. They would make it back to Camelot all right, a little cold, a little wet, but they would all make it through the night, he was sure.

Until his eyes caught on Merlin, his jacket tugged tight around his body, hands held in front of the fire to capture whatever warmth he could.

_Now_ Arthur was worried.

Merlin was no knight, he had no cape, and his jacket was _so_ _thin_**, **as was the boy himself, that even if he slept closest to the fire—which Arthur would make sure he _did_—he would still be likely to freeze to death in the night if left as he was.

Not caring that his concern was showing, he looked around at his knights, Leon, Percival, Elyan, and Gwaine, all of whom were looking between him and Merlin with the same sort of worried expressions on their faces. They must have been thinking the same thing as he was, as he saw them fiddling with the clasps of their capes, a silent competition to see who might get theirs off first.

Quicker than the rest of them, Arthur stood up, whipped his cape off, and sat down next to Merlin, striding past his knights in triumph as he went over. Silently, he draped his cape around him, hiding his concern with a wry smile when Merlin looked at him in surprise, touching the edges of it gingerly as he shook his head.

"Arthur—"

"Last thing I need is to bring you back to Camelot frozen to death. Gaius would never forgive me," he said with little bite, his eyes soft with his true intentions. He couldn't leave Merlin cold, couldn't risk anything happening to him. He just… he couldn't bare it.

"But you—"

"_I_ am wearing chainmail and several other layers under it—you should know, you're the one who dressed me, after all—so I will be fine. But _you_ will freeze otherwise, Merlin. And we can't have that." Arthur interrupted.

Merlin smiled, amused and grateful in a way neither of them were quite ready to convey with words. "No other decent servants around to take my place?" he asked.

Arthur smiled back, recognizing the truth mixed with his teasing.

"Not even _half-way_ decent—which would be an improvement, by the way." He teased back, smiling to let him know he would never even consider anyone else for the job of his manservant. How could he when the one he already had had captured his heart so?

"Yeah, but how many of them would put up with you for more than a day?"

"You seem to have managed just fine."

"But I'm not even half-way decent, remember?"

"Hard not to sometimes." Arthur laughed and shook his head, smiling as he tugged his cape closer around Merlin and secured it in place, pretending not to notice in front of his knights how he was still cold to the touch and his jaw was shaking slightly with the chill he must have been feeling.

"We should all get some sleep now." Arthur declared then, standing up suddenly. He moved about camp as his knights did the same, gathering up their bedrolls and spreading them out much closer together than they usually would.

Arthur grabbed both his and Merlin's and put Merlin's as close to the fire as he could and his own not too far away. Within moments, they were all tucking in close around the fire and each other for warmth.

Still worried about Merlin's shivering form, the rest of the knights offered up their capes as well throughout the night as he was sleeping, leaving him nice and toasty come morning.

Arthur smiled as he finally allowed himself to drift off, satisfied now that Merlin would be all right, and glad that his knights continued to prove themselves as the best in all the kingdoms. Even though none of them would ever quite care about the manservant in the same way that _he_ did, it was still nice to know that they _did_ care, nonetheless.

**Fin.**

* * *

**Let's not mention Merlin's magic and how he probably could have kept himself plenty warm with it—Arthur doesn't know about that quite yet, remember?**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	6. Snow Day

**So this one takes place the morning after "Candlelight." Making it a sequel. Ish.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Merlin. And if you ever hear me say that I _do_, you should probably be concerned about me and my mental health.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 6:  
**_Snow Day_

* * *

**Fic:**

Arthur was woken up by the sound of the news blaring on the television, the alarm in their bedroom beeping something awful, the smell of cooling wax, and his and Merlin's phones beeping with unread messages. Groaning against the much too early assault on his senses, he stretched his arms out over his head, blinking the sleep out of his eyes before he was reminded of Merlin's sleeping form on his lap. Sometime during the night—what time was it, anyway?—he had shifted, his face hidden under the blanket now.

"_Mer_lin," Arthur mumbled, squinting around the room in the too bright light. Most of the candles they had stupidly left lit the previous night were no longer burning, with only one or two still flickering away in the kitchen. Merlin mumbled incoherently, making Arthur roll his eyes. Honestly, if he didn't get up soon they would be late for—

Fuck! _Work._

"Bloody hell!" Arthur hissed, reaching for the nearest cell phone on the table next to him. Ignoring all the unread text messages and missed calls, he checked the time, swearing again when Merlin's phone read 11:07 AM. "Merlin, we're late for work." He said, throwing the blanket back and standing up, Merlin's head falling from his lap to the couch.

Ignoring Merlin's grumbled response, he rushed around the house, turned off that damned alarm clock and television, put a pot of water on to boil, blew out the candles, went to the bathroom and then came back and stood with his hands on his hips, observing Merlin's peaceful form wrapped back up in the blankets on the couch, looking almost too sweet and cozy to bother.

But, they really _were_ late for work. Even though Arthur's father would probably understand if he called and said they'd been snowed in—he wouldn't know it was a lie, after all—he knew Merlin didn't like taking days off unless absolutely necessary.

Then again, it _did_ seem necessary for Merlin to catch up on his sleep and stay nice and toasty for once instead of running on fumes and tea. With a soft smile on his face, Arthur picked up his phone and called in to his father, giving him the snowed in excuse he had on the tip of his tongue when he answered.

He threw his phone down on the table next to his near dead laptop then and fixed the blankets around Merlin so he was that much more comfortable and tucked in.

"Arthur?" Merlin mumbled, roused by Arthur's hands fluttering on his face. "What time is it?"

"Just after eleven." He answered, wondering how he might react to such news. He _never_ slept in, after all. He was always up at the crack of dawn, always the one waking Arthur up and making him face the morning against his will. It was never the other way around.

And yet, this time, it was.

But Arthur couldn't bring himself to snatch the blankets off of him like Merlin would do to him to get him up and awake…

Not today, anyway.

"Shouldn't we be getting ready for work?" Merlin asked, his voice thick in his half-asleep state.

"Mmm, we're not going to work today."

"No? Why not?"

"We're snowed in. Well, if my father calls we are, anyway," he shrugged, glancing out the window just behind the couch. There was barely a few inches on the ground, hardly cause for concern. He didn't even think any schools or businesses had been closed as a result of the snow. His father never watched the news, though, so it was a perfectly acceptable excuse.

"Snow day?"

"Yes, Merlin. Snow day." Arthur chuckled, crouching down just beside him.

"Can I have some tea then?"

"Sure, just give me a few minutes." Arthur kissed his forehead then and walked back to the kitchen and the steaming kettle. He had a cup of tea sitting near Merlin within minutes, but it grew cold before he could actually drink it. And when he finally _did_ wake up—truly wake up to ask why they weren't going in to work and what lie had he told his father again?—he asked for another, and they spent the day on the couch, finishing their book and ignoring their calls and texts in lieu of each other's company and the warmth of their blankets and loving embrace.

**Fin.**

* * *

**BTDub, the book they were reading in "Candlelight" and this one _was_ a book of some Arthurian legends. I don't know, I thought it'd be a nice touch. Kudos to Excalibur . vs . Riptide for getting that.**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	7. Angel

******I _love_ this chapter, guys. It was originally going to be more angsty, but then I remembered that this is a place of fluff, so I knocked the angst back down for you lot. You are welcome.**

**Disclaimer: **I like to think that if I owned _Merlin,_ I would not be sitting on my bed writing fanfiction at almost twelve in the morning, but _here we are_, so take from that what you will.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 7:  
**_Angel._

* * *

**Fic:**

Arthur didn't dream much anymore—not since he was a child had he dreamt every night. But when he _did_ dream, on those rare occasions, they were usually the most vivid and beautiful things he had ever known of. Amazing things happened in them: sometimes he relived the best moments of his life, sometimes he lived out his hearts desires, sometimes he dreamed of knights and friends that had passed on—the usual sort of dreams people had, he supposed, but for him they were rare and therefore that much more magnificent.

He was surprised, then, when he found himself dreaming of—and he usually _did_ know that he was dreaming—his room, of himself, sitting on his bed under his covers. He was perplexed, wondering what he was waiting for, what he was doing, why he was just _sitting_ there.

A moment later, his door swung open and someone walked in, their face and most of their body obscured by a bright light that was white hot and consumed the air and Arthur's whole being when they approached him and sat down on the edge of his bed. He felt unnerved yet somehow at peace. They reached out and put their hand on his and he decided that he might be starting to like this dream—or rather, how calm it was, how different it was from his usual dreams of fallen brothers and old memories.

Suddenly they started talking about nothing in particular, their voice familiar yet the name attached to it somehow eluding him. It was gentle and teasing and felt like _home_; even though he got the feeling that whoever it belonged to didn't want him to find out their identity—it was just a dream though, so how did that make any sense?—he couldn't seem to help searching his mind for it, combing through memories and people he knew to see who it might belong to. He needed to know who this was, who he was dreaming of like this.

The person took his hand in theirs then and gave it a squeeze, the light making him feel melancholy with the sensation.

"Don't try to figure it out, Arthur," The voice said, a chuckle laced through the words.

"But _who_ are you?" he asked, unsure of how they knew what he was doing, what he was thinking and trying to figure out.

"It doesn't matter," They said gently.

"Yes it does. I don't know why, but… it _does_. You feel _important_." Arthur said, frustrated. The person shook their head, took his hand between both of theirs and kissed it somewhere beyond all the light, setting his body on fire with the most pleasant sensation ever.

"I am no more important than you need me to be." They mumbled against his skin. He swallowed, his head fuzzy. Whether it was from the bright light, everything they were making him feel, or just the dream itself, he wasn't quite sure.

"What does that_ mean?_" he asked. The figure seemed to shrug—not that he could see it or most of the things it was doing, more like he could _sense_ it. He just knew intuitively what it was doing, what it was feeling, what it wanted him to know. He was sure they would be able to have the conversation without words, but then he wouldn't have such a chance to place the voice to a name. Which he still seemed to be unable to do.

"Whatever you want it to mean."

"That's extremely vague and frustrating." Arthur groaned. The person just laughed again—was it a laugh? The light seemed to almost glitter in a way that expressed amusement and humor, at least—and brought his hand down to rest between them on the bed.

The person, the figure, sat patiently then, waiting for Arthur to say or do something, it seemed, but Arthur didn't know what they wanted of him. Was he supposed to ask questions or tell them something or—or _something? _

"Are you an angel?" he blurted then, not knowing where the question had come from. The figure didn't have wings or anything of the sort, but it seemed… heavenly, angelic, in a way. It might have just been the light, though, that everyone, Arthur included, associated with Heaven, or it might have been the way they seemed to communicate, how they could make him feel things he wouldn't normally feel in dreams. Or maybe it just was the way they _were._

The figure seemed to look through him, to his very soul, as they said, "If you want me to be."

"And if I don't?"

They shrugged again. "Then I'm not."

"Are you going to tell me anything _useful?" _Arthur demanded, a surge of annoyance cutting through the calm.

The person sat, thinking, for a moment. "What do you want to know?"

"Who are you? What do you want? Do I know you? It feels like we've met before."

"We have." They nodded slowly. "I… look out for you, protect you, even love you sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Arthur swallowed, not quite understanding.

"You don't make it easy enough to love you _all _the time," they chuckled. The light surrounding them began to flicker then, almost fading enough for Arthur to make out their silhouette before they stood, throwing his hand down and coming to stand just next to him. "I shouldn't have taken over your dream like this, I'm sorry. I just…" They shook their head. "I need to go." They said, their tone urgent.

Arthur swallowed, feeling over-whelmed with the prospect of them—whoever the _hell_ they were—leaving all of a sudden. He had more questions about who they were, what they wanted, how they knew him, how they were there, why they were there, why they were talking in riddles, and things of the such.

But, more than that, he knew that when they left, the dream would change, their all-too-real feelings would leave, and whatever else he dreamed in the night would pale in comparison.

He didn't want them to leave him.

"Don't go." He whispered, grabbing their hand. They smiled, shook out of Arthur's grip, then leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, making him shut his eyes against the dimming light. And it felt _right_ and _natural_ when they kissed him, like they were somehow meant for him. He didn't want them to _stop_, but when they did, they pulled back and left him feeling cold and alone and wanting more.

"You _will_ see me again." They promised quietly.

"When?"

"In your waking hours. You see me every day, but…"

"But?"

"But you won't remember what it will mean to see me. You won't remember this dream. You never do."

"There have been others?" Arthur demanded, wracking his dream-brain for anything else he had ever experienced or dreamt that had been anything like this, but he couldn't seem to call any forward. Then again, the maybe-an-angel had said he never remembered them anyway.

"Many." They nodded.

"Can you… can you let me remember this time? Do you have that kind of power?" Power, Arthur realized then, that let you into someone's dream, let you interact with them, hide you from their mind's eye, erase whole memories of the dreams, had to be strong. Probably sorcery—_definitely_ sorcery.

But he didn't _care_. This person, this figure, angel, whatever they were, they were… _kind._ They made him feel safe and at home and loved. That couldn't possibly be something that was _bad_.

"I do, I can, but…" They shrugged again, the light around them that was blocking them from Arthur's view, dimming just a little bit more.

"So do it." Arthur urged. "Let me remember. Let me… let me know—_tell me _why you're so important to me." He insisted.

"I can't do that. You have to figure it out for yourself, why you think I'm so important. Which you don't. Not when you're awake, at least."

"Then I'm an idiot." Arthur said. The person laughed, not disagreeing with him.

"I'd say more along the lines of dollophead, but idiot works too."

Arthur's mouth fell open slightly.

_Dollophead_.

Now that—_that_ sounded _so_ familiar. He had heard it so many times, but from who? He was beginning to hate this figure, this person, for aggravating and frustrating him so. No way they were an angel, he realized then, because there was _no way_ angels were such clotpoles.

"I need to go now." They said at last, walking back to the door despite Arthur's protests. They walked through it and it slammed shut behind them, the room melting away with their light.

He was left cold and alone again for a moment—_barely_ half a second—and then his dream changed to that of a battle he'd fought long ago that was dull and _truly_ felt like a dream when compared to the vivid experience he'd just had.

When Merlin came in to wake him up in the morning, he groaned against the too bright light coming in from the window and rolled over in his bed to avoid the brightness for as long as he could manage.

_The light. _

He remembered then, the dream he'd had with so much clarity it almost hurt when he recalled the light the person, being, _whatever_, had been surrounded by, that had blocked them from his vision.

He bolted upright in his bed, stared at his door for a long moment, recalling the whole dream as Merlin flittered about the room, seemingly oblivious to his pensive silence until he came and stood next to his bed, hands crossed in front of him as he asked, "Sire? Is everything all right?"

Arthur looked at him, pursed his lips for a moment.

_Dollophead_.

"I think so," he nodded slowly. "But I had the strangest dream last night—anything you'd like to_ share_, _Mer_lin?"

Merlin just shook his head, his smile barely contained as Arthur yanked him down onto the bed and rolled them over, pinning Merlin down as he let out a sound of surprise. It seemed Arthur was going to get the answers to those questions of his after all.

**Fin.**

* * *

**Man, if Arthur thinks angels aren't dicks, he's _clearly_ never seen Supernatural. But then, given the obvious lack of television in his time, I suppose that's clear enough.**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	8. Christmas Cookies

**Disclaimer: **Nope, still don't own _Merlin_. You know, sometimes I don't think I ever actually _will_. Crazy thought, huh?

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 8:  
**_Christmas Cookies_

* * *

**Fic:**

"But _Mer_lin, you promised!" Arthur whined, blocking the front door as Merlin stood in front of him, rolling his eyes as he shifted on his feet, looking exasperated. He was bundled up in his winter coat, his favorite scarf, and some earmuffs, all ready to go out for the afternoon, though he was _supposed_ to stay at home all day with Arthur and stick to a certain promise he'd made earlier that week. But then he had gotten a call from Gwen and decided that Arthur and _his_ needs could wait so he could go off and do more important things, things that were apparently more worth his time than Arthur was.

"Stop being such a baby," Merlin sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"You _promised_." Arthur repeated stubbornly, crossing his arms in front of him.

"And I will keep my promise," he said. "_After_ I get back from helping Gwen," he insisted.

Arthur made a noise. He knew he was acting like a stubborn child, but Merlin _had_ promised to do this for him—this _one_ _thing_ that would make him happier than anything else in the world. He had _promised_, and Arthur was going to keep him to his promise if it was the last thing he did.

"Why do you need to help Guinevere with anything? Isn't that why she married Lance?"

"Yes, but he's out of town for the weekend, which you already _knew_,"

"But why—"

"_Arthur_, I already said I would help her, so I'm going. I will make you your Christmas cookies once I get back, all right? It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours to get everything done. Surely you can wait that long?" he asked rhetorically, as though he was really giving him the option of saying no.

"But you said you'd make them for me _before_ you agreed to help Guinevere with… whatever it is you're helping her with." Arthur huffed, not quite recalling the specifics of what Merlin was needed for. Something about getting ready for a party or shoveling snow or something?

"She needs me to teach her how to give a proper blowjob, remember? Lance is always complaining about her technique, and you're always bragging, so she figured who better for the job; Gwaine volunteered to be the guinea pig—don't mind, do you?" Merlin teased. Arthur just rolled his eyes. He was promised cookies, damnit, and no amount of sexual humor was going to get Merlin out of making them for him.

"_Mer_lin…"

"Arthur, you'll get your cookies later, I promise. See you when I get back. Try not to burn the house down while I'm gone. Love you." He pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then moved around him and out the door before Arthur could stop him.

With a scowl on his face, Arthur walked over to the couch and slumped down, arms crossed as he stared at whatever was flitting across the television screen.

It wasn't _fair!_

Merlin had _promised_ to make him Christmas cookies! And then he just up and goes to help Guinevere with _her_ problem and doesn't even stop to think how it would affect Arthur and _his_ plans for the day? Ugh, he was so mad!

If that was the way Merlin wanted to be, maybe Arthur didn't need him to make him cookies after all. He was an adult, after all, with a fully stocked and functioning kitchen—what was to stop him from making his own cookies?

Yes, he would make them himself and they would be ten times better than Merlin's cookies, and then Merlin would be upset that he had been upstaged all because he couldn't just keep one stupid promise.

With a firm resolve, Arthur wandered into the kitchen, flicked on the lights and pulled up a cookie recipe on his laptop. He was pretty sure they had everything that they needed—Merlin had been planning on making cookies at some point, after all—so he went about and pulled out bowls and spoons and a cookie sheet and of course cookie cutters in the shapes of Santa and angels and various other Christmas-y shapes and everything else he would need.

He checked all the ingredients against the list on his computer. Butter, flour, sugar, baking soda, vanilla, chocolate chips, salt, eggs, brown sugar—ah, _crap_, no brown sugar. Hmm, but what was brown sugar, really? Just sugar that was… _brown_. He would just use twice as much regular sugar, but, ah, they were almost out of sugar, anyway. No problem then, he would make up for it with extra salt and flour and baking soda. It would all balance itself out, he was sure.

So he set about mixing the ingredients according to the instructions and his own agenda and then had the dough—which looked _nothing_ like the dough Merlin usually had by that point—spread out on the counter and used the cookie cutters to place oddly shaped pieces of dough onto the cookie sheet.

Satisfied that they would turn out all right, he slipped them into the oven—was he supposed to preheat it? Ah, who cares, it'd get hot soon enough—and then went back to the living room and the couch. He flipped the channel and landed on the Christmas special of one of his favorite shows and soon forgot all about the cookies in the oven.

Until he smelled something… _burning._

"Fuck!" he jumped up and ran into the kitchen, grabbed the oven mitts from the counter and yanked the oven open, pulled the cookie sheet from inside and placed it on the table.

_Damnit!_

How was he going to show Merlin up with a pile of _burnt_ cookies? That would just prove Merlin's point that he shouldn't be left alone in the kitchen for an extended period of time, like he was a child or something. He might burn something, or, worse yet, burn the _house_ _down_. And yeah, burning the house down would be crappy, but worse than that would be the "I told you so" moments that came every day after that for the rest of their lives. Burning their house down was not something Merlin was likely to let Arthur forget, after all.

Staring down at the cookies longingly, Arthur sighed and picked one up, maybe they tasted better than they—_Nope._ He spit a mouthful of burnt cookie out. If anything they tasted _worse_ than they look. And Arthur didn't see how that was possible.

And he _really_ wanted cookies, too…

With a groan of defeat, he dropped the half-eaten cookie, turned the oven off and left the cookies on the table. There was a bakery just around the corner that happened to have _fantastic_ cookies this time of year—not quite as good as Merlin's were, but he would take what he could get right now—and he was going to get some _now_.

Within a half-hour, he had been to the bakery and back and had two dozen of those warm, gooey, _delicious_ Christmas cookies in a container that he promptly transferred to a plate for easier access.

Settled in on the couch with the plate, a glass of milk, and a new TV show, Arthur sunk down when the door flew open not ten seconds later. He had cut it close, but at least Merlin would never know of his little cooking mishap. As long as Merlin never knew about the failed batch of cookies, Arthur would be _fine._

"Arthur, what is that _smell?" _Merlin wrinkled his nose as he hung up his coat near the door and walked into the living room. Arthur cleared his throat, shrugged his shoulders.

"Dunno. Cookie?" he held the plate of cookies out to him absentmindedly, not taking his eyes off the TV in an attempt to seem casual.

"Did you make cookies?" he asked suspiciously, glancing around as he took one off the plate and plopped down next to him on the couch. Arthur didn't say anything, not wanting to lie to him, but still…

"Mmm, no. No way you made these," Merlin said when he bit into one. Arthur gave him a look, raised his eyebrow at him curiously as he took the cup of milk from between his legs. "They're much too good to be something you made." He explained after taking a sip. "I'm pretty sure you'd sooner burn the house down than make something this amazing. These must be from Mithians's, right?" he asked, leaning back on the couch. Arthur just nodded, taking a bite from another cookie in an attempt to keep his mouth full and shut.

"Are you still mad at me?" Merlin sighed, picking up the remote and muting the television. Arthur made a vague sound, not quite mad, more like… worried Merlin would find out what had happened while he was gone. He'd forgotten to air out the house, so it still smelled like something had been burnt, but he'd washed the dishes, put the ingredients and everything else back in its right place, threw out all evidence of him—

Oh fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_. He'd left the cookies—the burned proof of his incompetence in the kitchen—on the kitchen table. He had been in such a hurry, so anxious to have some _good _cookies, that he'd forgotten to throw out the bad ones. Damn, okay, if he could just get to the kitchen before Merlin, he could throw them out and Merlin would never—

"Well," Merlin sighed then, finishing off the milk and setting the glass down on the table in front of them. "I'm home now, and I know Mithian's cookies are way better than mine, but I can still make you some. I did promise, after all." He stood up, about to walk to the kitchen.

Panicking, Arthur reached out and grabbed his hand, pulled him back to the couch. He moved the cookies and yanked Merlin down, pressing him into Arthur with a deep kiss. Merlin sighed against him, probably thinking that he was forgiven—though they were _so _past the point of forgiveness, Arthur knew—but Arthur just needed a minute to think of a plan. He had to keep Merlin out of the kitchen, had to get in there alone for at least a minute before he could let Merlin in there. Only once he got rid of the cookies in there would it be safe for him to let Merlin in there.

But not before then.

"Mmm, what was that for?"

"I… I was a prat earlier, and I'm sorry…" Arthur said, grasping at straws. "I know Gwen's our friend and you were just doing what you always do: helping your friends. You—you just like to _help_ people. It's a good quality to have and one of the many things I love about you. So… just… _sit_. Right here. With me. Watch TV, eat cookies, don't worry about making me anything. Think of it as my way of making up for my behavior earlier," he smiled, hoping he would just accept that answer and do as Arthur suggested.

Merlin gave him a skeptical look, "You _do_ know I was just joking about that blowjob thing earlier?"

"Yes, _Mer_lin, I do know what a joke is," Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin looked at him for a moment longer but then, much to Arthur's relief, just shrugged and sat back on the couch, picked up another cookie and watched some program with him in silence for a while.

After some time, Merlin stood to his feet. "I'll be right back," he said, taking the empty milk glass and heading towards the kitchen.

Before Arthur could even remember why he'd been trying to keep Merlin from the kitchen in the first place, he heard him cursing and then, "_Arthur!_ What did you _do?"_

**Fin.**

* * *

**Ah, poor Arthur; he's really such an idiot in the kitchen, isn't he? Poor Merlin, though, having to put up with all that...**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	9. Fireplace

**Disclaimer: **Do people even do disclaimers any more is it just me being all old and shit? Either way, _Merlin_ still isn't mine, so the race continues to see which fangirl can get their hands on the rights first. May the odds be ever in your favor.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 9: **_  
Fireplace_

* * *

**Fic:**

As the newly crowned king of Camelot, Arthur, as it turned out, had quite a bit of paperwork to do, and not quite enough hours in the day to do it all. So he often found himself up late, scribbling away and signing important documents and whathaveyou with Merlin nearby, catching up on chores or pretending to be busy just to keep Arthur company.

One particularly chilly night, Arthur had decided that if he was going to work late into the night again, he was at least going to be _warm_ while he did it, so he and Merlin made their way to a room with a fireplace in it. Merlin stoked the fire before settling in on a plush rug just in front of the fire with Arthur's boots to polish while Arthur plopped down in a chair with a treaty to read over.

They worked in silence for a while, Arthur's eyes trailing over the paper in a state of almost boredom, and Merlin polishing his boots, the sounds of paper crinkling and fabric scraping falling in rhythm with the crackling fire in a pleasant way that made Arthur's eyes droop slightly.

He shook himself out of his reprieve then, reminding himself that the treaty signing was supposed to take place come morning and he had to look it over to be sure everything was done correctly. Perhaps working in front of a toasty fireplace in a cozy chair wasn't the best idea in the world…

Water. A glass of water would help wake him up, maybe a snack, too, he decided. He lowered the paper from his face, eyes seeking out Merlin and wondering why he'd stopped polishing—even if he _had_ finished, he usually pretended that he hadn't just to stick around for a while longer—until he saw why.

Arthur's boots were forgotten on the floor, the cloth Merlin had been using to polish them draped over them, and Merlin was lying on the rug, spread out as though he hadn't really meant to fall asleep but had anyway. His mouth was hanging open slightly, eyes closed peacefully, a serene look about him that made Arthur purse his lips in wonder. They had both been pulling late nights recently, Arthur because he had to, Merlin because he wanted to, and the loss of sleep was bound to catch up with them sooner or later. Arthur just wondered why it had to be _sooner._

Forgetting about the treaty—Leon had looked it over before it found its way back to Arthur, anyway, and said everything looked to be in order. He was just double-checking to satiate his own curiosity and nerves—he watched Merlin for a moment. He looked… like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in a while now. And he probably hadn't been just as warm as he was now in a while either.

Arthur smiled softly, remembering nights when he had camped out in front of that very fireplace as a child, reading books and terrorizing tutors and hiding from nursemaids and Morgana and his father. He had fallen asleep way too many times in front of it, only to wake up half-way frozen come morning—the fire _did_ go out eventually, if there was no one there to stoke them. Merlin, though, for the moment, looked warm and at peace.

And Arthur would have given anything, just in that moment, for him to always look like that instead of worried, thoughtful, and stressed look he always seemed to be these days.

"Mmm, sorry, did I drift off?" Merlin mumbled suddenly, blinking himself awake and pulling his head off the rug. Arthur shrugged, turned his attention back to the treaty sheepishly, trying to pretend he hadn't just been watching him sleep.

"Just for a moment." Arthur said.

"Sorry, I'll… finish these." He moved to sit up and grab for the boots but Arthur stopped him.

"No, don't… don't bother."

"Why not?" Merlin asked curiously, voice still tired and weighed down by his brief encounter with sleep.

"Because… knowing your skills, that's as good as they're going to get," Arthur clucked his tongue, watching over the top of the treaty as Merlin sat on his knees, caught between the boots and Arthur's words.

"Right…" he nodded slowly, hands coming to rest on his hips. "Well, what else would you like me to do?" he asked.

Arthur shrugged again, pretended to think for a moment and then brought the treaty up to his eyes once more. "Go back to your nap, I suppose. I'll wake you when I'm done." He offered, keeping his eyes on the words in front of him as Merlin made a sound of surprise and suspicion. He felt Merlin's eyes on him, on the paper he was holding stubbornly in front of his face, his own probably conveying the same suspicion and curiosity as his voice.

"You're not serious…"

"I am, though," Arthur assured him.

"You're actually _telling _me to sleep on the job? Have you taken too many blows to the head recently?"

"Look," Arthur yanked the paper down to stare Merlin down instead, his gaze hopefully enough to pin him to the spot and get his message across. "We've been working late a lot recently, and it's either catch up on it now when you have the chance or wait for it to catch up on _you_ when we're out in a battle or our time is more valuable than it is now. So. _I_ am going to finish looking this over, _you_ are going to sleep, and when I'm done we're _both_ going to go to bed and _you're_ going to stop arguing about it and do as your king tells you. Are we clear, _Mer_lin?" Arthur demanded.

He had to admit, he hated doing that, bringing up the 'I'm your king' thing instead of the more important 'I'm your friend', but sometimes—much too often as of late, actually—it was the only thing that got through to people like Merlin.

Merlin, however, just looked amused, a goofy grin on his face as he clearly saw through Arthur intentions.

His attention back on the paper, Arthur ignored Merlin's light chuckled response, "Whatever you say, _sire_." But he was pleased when he looked back down moments later and Merlin was spread out on the rug, sleep having claimed him once more.

Rereading the treaty several times, Arthur stayed up just a bit longer, allowing Merlin his sleep in front of the glow of the fireplace.

And, if Merlin had asked come morning why he had let him sleep for so long, Arthur had decided that it was a very long and complicated treaty that required his attention for much longer than most. Though he would probably see through _that_ as well...

**Fin.**


	10. Decorations

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Merlin. Ask again later.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 10: **  
_Decorations._

* * *

**Fic:**

Christmas was supposed to be a cheerful time of year, filled with love and family and friends and togetherness and all that fun stuff. It was _not_ meant to be about who had the best decorations on their house, who was the most creative and went all out, creating the most elaborate set-up on their snow-covered lawns and homes.

Yet every year, Arthur and Merlin found themselves at war with Gwaine and Percival, who lived just across the street from them, in a cut-throat competition to see which couple could dress up their home in the most festive sort of way. There were no prisoners, there was no mercy, there were no rules. There were only four men, two houses, and a twisted contest to see who would be the victor this year and who would be the loser, forced to walk around with the shame of such a title for a whole year.

Merlin had been, once upon a time, merely a spectator, choosing to sit out of their macho head-games and ego-boosts, but now he was just as into crushing Gwaine and Percival as Arthur always was. Somehow, the Pendragon had got into his head, convinced him that decking out the exterior of their house was just as important to their winter-time survival as hot chocolate and warm blankets was. And once he was in, there was no going back.

"Arthur, where _are_ _you?_" Merlin hissed into his phone, watching out the window as discreetly as possible as Gwaine and Percival, just across the street and all bundled up, went about stringing lights and putting up decorations on their house, garage, bushes, and lawn.

They had quite a bit of decorations sitting on their porch, thrown on the ground, the whole affair looking quite haphazard at best. But, Merlin knew, they would have it done within a few hours. He would leave the window for a cup of tea and then he would come back and everything would suddenly be done. Their house would be glowing like the freaking stars themselves and their house would look _perfect_, seemingly finished until Arthur and Merlin did their house and then, oh _then_, they would bring out the big guns, each pair adding more and more decorations and lights, always having to one-up the other until Christmas Eve came and the decorating had to stop, according to the _one rule _they'd always had.

And then there would be judging. Leon, Lance, Gwen, Elyan, and Morgana would stop by and they would decide who had won. And the winners would get a special prize—one that was always kept secret until the last minute.

But, it wasn't the _prize_ they were after, it was the sweet, sweet bragging rights. And Merlin would be damned if Gwaine and Percival won that again. Not this year.

_"At the store. Picking up everything we need—all the lights and everything." _

"Right, well, you better get _more_, Gwaine and Perce have started decorating."

_"Already?" _

"Yes. And they _really_ want to win again, so you better get the good stuff."

_"Oh it can't be that bad, this is only the first leg." _

"They've got an _inflatable snowman_, Arthur! _Inflatable!_" Merlin exclaimed, glaring out the window as Gwaine hooked it up to the machine that would, well, inflate it.

_"What! We had an _agreement!_ No inflatables! Those bastards!"_

"That was never made an official rule, though."

_"That's because there _are_ no rules." _

"Exactly! Which is why they have an inflatable snowman on their lawn! I don't have to tell you how serious this is, Arthur."

_"Right, okay, right. I'll, get uhm… What, an inflatable Santa Claus and a penguin?" _

"Yes. Among other things. Just… grab anything that looks Christmasy and we'll throw it on there. And hurry up." Merlin hissed into the phone. Arthur's competitiveness had rubbed off on him. And if the fate of their house and honor didn't hang in the balance, he might have given it a second thought, but, as it was, all he could seem to focus on was beating Gwaine and Percival at their own game. Beating them for once in quite a few years would be the sweetest sort of victory Merlin would ever need to taste.

Arthur chuckled on his end. _"It's kinda hot when you get all competitive like this."_

"Arthur! Just… the decorations. Get them and get home. We're at war here; we don't have time for your hormonal needs that match those of a teenage boy!" And then he hung up, going back to watching his sworn enemies during the holiday season out his window for a few more minutes until he decided his time was better spent figuring out the best way to crush them instead of watching them win.

He sat down at the dining room table with a cup of tea, paper and pen in his hand as he figured out the best set-up, the best layout of the lights and other decorations Arthur was out getting. He had no way of knowing the specifics of what Arthur was buying until he came home with them, but he could at least have a general plan of attack ready to go.

They would _definitely_ be utilizing the trees this year. The year before they had strung lights through the bushes but had neglected to do anything with the trees, and that had been their down fall. They would need to use most, if not all, of the lawn, the whole of the front of the house would need to be covered, probably even the roof, though it'd be a bitch to get up there and set everything up without slipping off in the weather they'd been having lately…

"Fuck, you weren't kidding, Merlin," Arthur groaned, coming in through the front door and dropping all his bags to the floor as he kicked off his snow-covered boots and shed his coat and gloves, leaving them on the coat-rack and couch. "They're not playing around this year, are they?" he asked, grabbing the seat across from Merlin.

Merlin gave a half-answer, lost in his thoughts and plans. How were they truly going to beat them this year, he wondered. Could it even be done anymore? Once, he had naively thought that it was as possible as anything else in the world, but after losing to them so many times, he wasn't so sure anymore…

"So what's the plan, then? Do we need to get started now or do we have time to—"

"Nope, gotta do it now." Merlin interrupted, cutting his eyes at Arthur even as he glanced between Merlin and their bedroom. "The sooner we get the first part done, the sooner the war can really begin." He said, pushing back from the table to go inspect the bags Arthur had brought in.

"But it's freezing out there right now!"

"And it's only going to get colder. So we'll get the ground work done now, and then once they get their second installment up, we can go more elaborate. Some of the lights on the front can go up now, and we can put the penguin up now, but I think we should save the Santa and the moving reindeer for later. The roof can wait a week; hopefully it won't be so slick then, and then we can…" Merlin ranted on for a while then, going through the bags and deciding what would go up and when and what else Arthur was going to need to pick up next time he went out, and oh, wouldn't it be a good idea to spell out Merry Christmas or something on the roof or in front of the inflatables?

A week went by, and then two, and then it was the day before Christmas Eve and both houses seemed to have been swallowed up in Christmas lights and decorations. There were displays and inflatables and words spelled out in lights. Trees and bushes were all properly utilized this year, and it really seemed as though it was anyone's year to win it. Both houses were enveloped in the lights, beacons of festivity and hope—and quite a bit of annoyance when they left it all going through-out the night—for the whole neighborhood.

Yes, both homes were properly decked out and their friends would certainly have their work cut out for them when it came time to decide who was the rightful winner of the bragging rights and special prize that was usually something silly and childish but that the winners loved anyway. And Merlin would be content, no matter who won, that they'd done their best and that their house looked pretty damn grand and festive.

But, he would be even more content if he and Arthur walked away the winners.

"The house looks _great_," he told Arthur, sipping on his tea as they sat down for a light dinner that night.

"It looks _amazing_. We're definitely going to kick their asses their year," Arthur grinned back.

"Yeah, maybe."

"But it could probably use just one more thing…" Arthur said suddenly, his eyes glazed over with thought as they swept the room, lips pursed as though he was looking for something.

"The house is _perfect_, Arthur. Besides, we're all out of things to add and it's the day before Christmas Eve, all the stores are either closed or all out." He shrugged, trying to convince himself that he wasn't even just a little bit curious about what Arthur had in mind. Most of the ideas had been Merlin's, with Arthur mostly being in charge of bringing the ideas to life. But, when he _did_ come up with the odd idea, it was usually brilliant and put the decorations even more on par with Gwaine and Percival's.

But they were out of decorations, he had to remind himself, and even if they weren't, the only possible place left to put things was the roof, and it was quite slippery at the moment, they had found out the hard way, with Arthur nearly falling off it the last time he'd been up there. And no competition was worth Arthur breaking his neck over. No matter how badly they both wanted to win.

"There _are_ still the decorations up in the attic—the ones from last year?" Arthur reminded him, nodding upwards as he spoke.

"Right, but there's no way you're going out on the roof, Arthur." Merlin shook his head. "Too slippery, remember? You almost fell last week when you were up there."

"But it's bound to be better now. I mean," he shrugged. "It snowed earlier, sure, but there's been plenty of time for it to settle and everything. I'll be fine as long as I'm careful,"

Merlin just shook his head, falling into a ten-minute conversation/argument that ended with Arthur going up to the attic and pulling the old decorations out anyway.

With Merlin close behind him, still objecting the whole way, he went outside and set up their ladder, climbed up to the roof and began to ask for this strand of lights that he prayed still worked and that Santa decoration that would look good just in the front.

Merlin sighed, trying to convince him to get his ass off the roof before he fell and broke his neck, still passing him the decorations as he tried to make his case. He really wanted Arthur to get down, to go back inside with him and stay safe and alive, but he also wanted to _win_, and he knew it was wrong to enable Arthur like he was, and he felt guilty…

But he _really_ wanted to win.

Still struggling with what he wanted more and half-arguing with himself on the subject, he barely noticed when Arthur disappeared from sight until he heard a horrible thudding noise and his groan of pain coming from the other side of the house. Heart thudding, he raced down the ladder and found him on the snow-covered ground, groaning in pain and cursing about lights and stupid winter weather and how he was going to strangle Gwaine and Percival with the lights that had tripped him when he next saw them.

After a long night spend in the emergency room, Arthur was sent home with Merlin with a cast on his arm and some pain medication in his hands. He was a little scratched and bruised up, but, aside from the broken arm, he was going to be just fine.

Of course, once everyone arrived and they relayed the story to them, Gwen and Morgana didn't quite see it that way.

"Are you completely _stupid?" _Gwen demanded, hands on her hips as she stood in front of the boys with Morgana. Merlin opened his mouth, wondering why _he_ was being yelled at as well. He had tried to _stop_ Arthur, after all, and that should count for something.

"You were handing him the decorations!" Morgana hissed. "You cared more about beating these two idiots than staying safe. And don't you two even _think_ about going _anywhere!_" she shouted, gluing Percival and Gwaine to their chairs as they tried to get up and leave unsuccessfully. "This is just as much your fault as it is theirs!"

"What did _we_ do?" Percival asked.

"It's not like we pushed him or made him go up there or anything! _He's_ the one who wanted to try to beat us so badly he was willing to risk his neck to do it!" Gwaine added.

"If you weren't so wrapped up in beating each other at this stupid competition, Arthur wouldn't have been on that roof last night, he wouldn't have tripped over those stupid lights and fallen, he wouldn't have a broken arm and a beaten up face—none of this would have happened if the four of you could just behave like adults every once in a while!" Morgana hissed.

Merlin ducked his head at her words, of course she was right, but did she really have to yell at them like children? And in front of everyone? Elyan, Lance, and Leon seemed to be getting a kick out of the girls berating them like that…

"But—"

"No _buts_, Arthur Pendragon," Morgana cut him off sternly. "You could have died, you know that? Could have broken your neck or—or worse."

"But I didn't!"

"But you _could have_. And then what? Hmm?" Gwen demanded. "We would have been spending today and every day after missing you, all because you wanted to win some stupid competition that doesn't even _matter!" _She turned on Merlin then. "And how would _you_ have felt? Knowing that your boyfriend was _dead_ because you lot wanted to beat Gwaine and Percival at decorating your house for _Christmas?_ This is supposed to be a time of family and love, but you four have taken it to such a level of—of _animosity!_ And you're supposed to be _friends!" _Gwen shook her head furiously, blinking away tears in her anger. Merlin hadn't seen her or Morgana this angry in quite a few years now...

And it was _scary. _He was afraid they might take the rest of them up to the roof and push them off it, all to make them realize how easily Arthur could have been more seriously injured in his fall.

The girls yelled at the four of them for at least a half-hour then, ripping each of their heads off, back-tracking and doing it all over again until it seemed as though they'd run out of steam and they were allowed to go eat dinner. Though even _then_ they still managed to glare at them between bites and silly stories told to fill the time, their anger evident enough that none _dared_ to mention the competition until half-way through the meal.

"So… I know we were stupid and childish and whathaveyou," Arthur swallowed a pill with a gulp of tea, gesturing with his good hand. "But… if you don't mind me asking… Who _would_ you say won this year?"

Merlin flinched at his question. Maybe he could talk Gwen and Morgana out of another round of screaming at them by claiming Arthur had hit his head when he fell off the roof? Or, at the very least, maybe Arthur would let him have one or two of his pills to help him endure it…

**Fin.**


	11. Ribbons And Bows

**Disclaimer: **Hmm, no, no, I don't think I own _Merlin_—though I'd have to check again just to be sure...

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 11:  
**_Ribbons And Bows_

* * *

**Fic:**

"Don't take this the wrong way, Morgana, but I think you were cheated," Arthur said with a note of distaste in his voice, eyebrows brought together as he inspected the basket sitting on her bed.

Morgana just shook her head at him, still grinning as she looked from Arthur to Merlin. _Surely_, Merlin would understand where she was coming from and what she wanted to do—he was much more understanding and accepting than Arthur, after all. Exchanging a look with Gwen as Merlin uncrossed his arms and approached the basket, rifled through it with curiosity as Arthur shot him a look, Morgana knew then that they would take up her request. Even if Arthur didn't quite want to. Merlin always _could_ persuade him to do just about anything.

"I don't know, Arthur," Merlin shrugged at last, turning back to the prince with a long strand of satin ribbon in his hands. "I've heard talk down in the market of people doing this before. It's supposed to please the horned god when people do it," he shrugged again, dropping the ribbon back into the basket filled to the brim with numerous other fancy ribbons and pre-tied bows that Morgana had bought from a vendor in the market. He had claimed it was a Yule tradition among the people of far-off lands to decorate one's room with them.

If a fine young lady such as herself did it, he had told her, she was sure to have good fortune come Yule and have many wonderful things happen to her in the many months afterwards. She wasn't quite sure if she believed him, but she had bought the ribbons and bows nonetheless. They would look quite wonderful strung up in her chambers during the festivities that were fast approaching, after all, regardless of whether they did what he promised or not.

"Horned god?" Arthur asked in skepticism.

"The male equivalent of the Triple Goddess?"

"Wouldn't the _Triple Goddess_ be more interested in the ribbons and girly things than the _horned god?_ Shouldn't he be more into…? I don't know, hunting and sacrifices or something?"

"Well you can't very well expect Morgana and Gwen to go off hunting down defenseless animals just to please some god, now can you?"

"You think that'd be too hard for them to manage?"

"No, they could do it, _and_ I'd be willing to bet they'd do a much better job of it than you, but they're too nice to go and pull something like that."

_"Mer_lin…"

"What? I'm just saying, Gwen and Morgana are nicer than any bone in your body could ever hope to be."

"Well no one _asked_ _you,_ now did they?"

Morgana rolled her eyes as the boys—_boys, _she thought, _not men by any standards_—went on arguing about attitude and knowing one's place and whatever other odd thing they went off on a tangent about while she turned back to Gwen, walked to the basket with her to pull the soft, carefully cut and shaped bits of fabric out of it and spread it all out on her bed.

Arthur and Merlin could argue for days about which end of the horse you were supposed to stroke if they were left to their own devices for too long. But, if Merlin could distract Arthur long enough so he forgot why he was objecting to her request in the first place, it was worth letting them have their little row for a few minutes as she tried to decide which ribbons would look best strung from the canopy of her bed and which she might send home with Gwen to decorate her own home with.

She interrupted their fight then, which had escalated into Arthur holding Merlin in a headlock and Merlin jabbing away at him for his freedom with his pointy elbows and long fingers. With a roll of her eyes, she instructed them to straighten up and come help her string this from her canopy and pin that to the wall until half the day was gone and her room was decorated beautifully in a way that, never mind pleasing some _god_, pleased _her_ very much.

Gwen gushed over how magnificent it looked when they stepped back to admire it and Arthur complained about how he'd missed a training session when he realized just how late in the day it truly was. Merlin rolled his eyes at him, hands on his hips as he admired their handiwork.

"Ignore him, Morgana; it actually looks really beautiful. Nice job on picking this up," he told her, nodding at the half-empty basket that she planned to send home with Gwen. She beamed at him, nodding her thanks as she walked back over to the basket. She dug through it and pulled out a deep red, velvety ribbon, walked over to him with it.

"I know Arthur might say it's rather girly, but here, Merlin, you should string this up in your room somewhere for good luck. It's the least I can do to thank you for sacrificing your afternoon to help us with this," she gestured around the room as she dropped the ribbon into his hands.

"That's because it _is_ girly." Arthur grumbled.

"Oh come on, Arthur, girls love a guy who isn't afraid to show a little femininity every once in a while." Morgana teased him, shaking her head at his sullen, child-like expression.

"Oh, you know what? Maybe he's just jealous you didn't give _him_ one." Gwen suggested.

"Is that it, Arthur? You want one of your own? I think I saw a nice blue one somewhere that would match your eyes," Merlin added, nodding towards the basket as he wove the ribbon through his scarf so he wouldn't lose it.

"I think that _is_ it. Nice catch, you two. Gwen? Would you grab something that would go with Arthur's eyes? I'd hate for him to feel left out."

"Of course. Dark blue or light?"

"Oh, I don't know. Merlin, what do you think? Which would go better with his eyes?"

"There's a medium blue here that might work." Gwen grinned before he could answer.

"You could always give him black—you know, to match the color of his heart of coal." Merlin suggested.

"No, that's his soul you're thinking of." Morgana corrected, taking the medium blue ribbon that matched Arthur's eyes better than any of the rest they had left and draping it around the prince's neck as he seethed at them all, grumbling about everyone ganging up on him and how he was the prince and he didn't need to take this from a couple of girls_,_ let alone his own manservant. With a smirk, Morgana carefully tied the ribbon into a neat bow and straightened it into place, giggling as he turned out of her touch and stormed out of her room once he figured out what she had done, clearly having enough.

"That's the last time I help you with _anything_, Morgana!" He yelled back at her, though she barely heard him over the giggling fit herself, Merlin, and Gwen had fallen into at his expense.

A moment later, he yelled back for Merlin to stop fooling around with the girls and catch up on his chores for the day. But he wouldn't see Merlin for a good while longer, as he was much too busy wiping tears of laughter from his eyes with Gwen and Morgana.

**Fin.**

* * *

**Okay, so _maybe_ there was a bit of OOCness, but, eh, at least it's not angst.**

**You know, Morgana's been evil for so long now, it kinda makes it difficult to remember what she was like in the beginning. So I did my best with her, given what I _could_ remember. **

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	12. Eggnog

**Disclaimer: **Mmmm, if I owned _Merlin_, do you realize the sort of power I would have? I'd have a small army at my command. Like, JK Rowling could take over a few continents, if not the whole world, so I figure I'd _at least_ be able to take over a small city or something—not that that's something I'd ever do. I've certainly thought about it before... But I haven't conquered any cities yet, so there's your answer.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 12: **  
_Eggnog_

* * *

**Fic:**

"Mmm, one more—one more cup." Arthur slurred, reaching for a pitcher setting on the table between him and Merlin. Merlin reached a hand out to stop him, his movements loose and shaky with the drink that coursed through him and made the world spin by and his words come out almost as slurred as Arthur's.

"_Noooo_pe. You've had enough."

"_I_ am the king," Arthur insisted, still grabbing for the pitcher. "And _you_ are a servant. If I want another drink, I'll—I'll have another drink."

"Mm-mm," Merlin shook his head and took the pitcher, slid it out of Arthur's grasp to the side of the table. "You're drunk, mlord." He pressed his lips into a straight line, shaking his hazy head as he watched Arthur, his cheeks pink as he unsuccessfully reached again for the pitcher. Giving up a moment later, he slumped down in his chair, almost pouting as he eyed the pitcher with want.

"_I'm_ not drunk _you're_ drunk." He grumbled.

"Mmm, that I am." Merlin chuckled in agreement. He could barely remember the feast they'd been at only hours before. A visiting king had introduced them to a drink that was spiced and cold and oh by the way had hard liquor in it that not even _Gwaine_ usually ingested in such quantities as the people at the feast were doing that night.

But Arthur had enjoyed it; he had downed a couple of goblets full of it before Merlin had insisted that he get up to bed. And even then, he had grabbed a full pitcher of it from the table and taken it with him. Merlin had been hoping to convince him to just leave it on his table and crawl into bed without incident, but the king had somehow managed to convince _him_ to drink some with him.

_Now_ the pitcher was almost empty and both men were clearly inebriated.

Arthur giggled, hiccupping with the action. "You are such a lightweight, _Mer_lin." He laughed again, Merlin joining him. "And your face is so… _piiiiink_."

"So's yours, idiot."

"Yeah, but you look _adorable_ with-with your face all pink like that. And your ears—they're turning _piiiiink _too!" he laughed again. Merlin shook his head, his stomach beginning to ache from all the laughing they were doing.

"You are such a _prat_." Merlin slurred.

"And you a dollophead."

"That-that's _my_ insult! You can't just… take it like that. I want it _back_!"

"Mmm, I can't do that, _Mer_lin."

"Why-why do you say my name like that? _Mer_lin? It's just 'Merlin.'"

"I dunno. Because I'm th' king and I will call you what I wish, Mer_lin_."

Merlin laughed again, collapsing further into his chair as their laughter bounced off the walls around them.

Still laughing a moment later, Merlin stood up, and carefully held on to the edge of the table as he walked over to Arthur.

"What are you doing?"

"You have to go to bed," Merlin said, tugging Arthur up by the arm. "Biiiiiig day tomorrow. Treaty signings and—and _stuff_."

"_Stuff_." Arthur repeated with a nod of his head, allowing Merlin to pull him to his feet. Clumsily, Merlin led Arthur over to his bed and tugged his shirt off. "What did they call that drink again?" he asked, kicking off his boots as Merlin dropped his shirt to the floor. He fell back onto his bed, not bothering to let Merlin pull off his pants or put his nightclothes on him.

"Ahm… I think something like… Egg n milk punch, butthen Gwaine called it—he called it… Eggnog?" Merlin offered, trying to remember against the fog the conversation that they'd had as Merlin had served him and the knights earlier that evening. He sat down on the edge of Arthur's bed then, falling backwards ungracefully as the room began to spin even more than it already had been. Arthur hovered above him, his pink and grinning face not near enough for his taste.

"You an Gwaine are good friends, yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. He's my favorite knight. After Lancelot, anyway." Merlin nodded.

"I thought _I_ was your favorite knight?" he asked, his face offended.

"Noooooo, _but_ you are my favorite king."

"You like Gwaine better than me, don't you? Lancelot too! Why don't you like _me, _Merlin?" his face was blotchy, almost like he might start crying.

Merlin shook his head. "I like—I like you too, Arthur."

"But you like-like them, don't you?"

"Gwaine an Lance are just—just friends. Gwaine's with Perce and Lancelot's with Gwen, you know that."

"But you like them better than me, don't you? It's because I'm so mean. It's not my fault. I'm only—only mean to you because I don't want you to know."

"Don't want me to know _what?" _Merlin asked, squinting up at his king. He pursed his lips and watched Arthur look away.

"I can't tell you—it's a _secret." _

"I won't tell anyone."

"But everyone already _knows_."

"So why can't you tell _me?_"

"Because you're the one who can't _know_."

"So tell me and then I won't have to not know anymore 'cause I'll already _know_."

Arthur turned back to him, looked down at Merlin in a way that made him flush even pinker than he already was.

"That makes sense." He nodded. "Okay, siddup." He grabbed Merlin's hands and pulled him so he was sitting next to him. He fell back down a moment later, however, giggling as he shook his head.

"Why don't I stay down here and you stay up there and tell me what I'm not supposed to know?"

"That makes sense, too. You really are smart sometimes, you know that, _Mer_lin? I don't give you enough credit sometimes."

Merlin nodded, mouth open just so as he looked up expectantly. He got the vague feeling that he might not remember this in the morning, or if he did, he would certainly see it differently than he was now. But Gwaine had something along those lines, too, hadn't he?

Merlin didn't drink much, despite what Arthur thought, and he certainly had never had as much as he had tonight, so he didn't know _what_ to expect come morning, really. But for the moment, he was warm and laughing and looking up at Arthur and all he really knew was that there was no place his drunken mind would rather be.

"Arthur, what issit already—"

Arthur interrupted him then, leaning down to sloppily press his lips to Merlin's. Merlin closed his eyes, feeling Arthur's lips on his own numb ones. He was aware of Arthur's hand coming up to the side of his face as he melted into the bed, the swirling and spinning world ceasing to exist as their drunken lips melded together. It was sloppy and hurried and tasted like liquor and the loss of inhibitions, but, to Merlin's drunken and cloudy mind, it was the best kiss he had ever had and _would_ ever have.

"That's what I couldn't—couldn't tell you." Arthur murmured, his lips pressed just near Merlin's ear now. Merlin nodded.

"Funny, I couldn't tell you the same thing."

"Imagine that." Arthur said, kissing him again for a long moment. They laughed again when Arthur pulled back and then collapsed on the bed next to him, his eyes slipping shut half-way.

"'Night, Merlin." Arthur whispered, turning on his side to face Merlin and tucking himself close to him.

Merlin tucked his arm behind his head, his own eyes starting to close against the haze and warmth brought on by something other than the eggnog coursing through his system.

"'Night, Arthur." He mumbled back, leaning close to him to press a light kiss to his forehead before slipping into slumber himself, barely aware of Arthur's face pressing against his neck and mumbling incoherently against his skin in an almost ticklish sort of way.

**Fin.**

* * *

**I've never been drunk before, but _sssshh_, no one else needs to know that. I did hella research to try to make drunk!Merlin and Arthur seem convincing, so hopefully I did all right with it.**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai**


	13. Mistletoe

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Merlin _and the only thing I gain from this piece of writing is the satisfaction of knowing that, though Merlin's adventures on television have come to an end, they shall never truly be over in my heart or my imagination... _Aaaaaand_ now I've made myself sad...

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 13:**  
_Mistletoe_

* * *

**Fic:**

"Sorry, you want me to do _what_ to Merlin?" Arthur demanded of a smirking Morgana, eyes wide as he glanced between his just as shell-shocked manservant and her.

She just shook her head and pointed up, casting his eyes and Merlin's upwards to the doorframe. There was some odd plant hanging above them, green and leafy with some strange berries scattered through-out it. It meant nothing to Arthur, but when he glanced back at Merlin whose face was suddenly pale and eyes wider than wide, he knew Merlin knew what it meant. Why Morgana had said…

"You heard me, Arthur. You have to kiss him." She repeated, watching them expectantly. She had called Arthur into her room just moments ago, had said he needed to bring Merlin and come quick because something was wrong. Thinking the worst, he had come rushing in with his sword ready, but she had halted them at the door, told him to put his sword away and made him and Merlin stand together in the doorway, her face gleeful and almost _evil._

And then she had demanded that Arthur kiss Merlin.

Of course, she hadn't really expected that to work, had she? Because, even though there was no denying that he _had_ thought of it before, a prince did not kiss his manservant. It just was not done.

So why was Morgana standing here telling him that he _had_ to?

"And why would I do that?" he asked, hoping no one had heard the quiver in his voice, hoping Merlin couldn't tell how he was aching to do just as Morgana asked and then some.

"Because of that plant," she gestured upwards again and then turned to Merlin. "You know what it is, don't you, Merlin? You've been studying under Gaius for so long now that you should." She grinned again as Arthur turned to him as well, his request of an explanation poised in his features.

"Erm, yeah," he rubbed his neck like he always did when he was embarrassed or sheepish, his cheeks tinted a light pink. "It's mistletoe."

"_So?_ What does that_ mean?_" Arthur demanded, still not understanding what was going on. Of course, he was being counter-productive to what he _actually_ wanted, but he couldn't admit that that was something that he wanted. He couldn't give Morgana that satisfaction.

"It's, uhm, a plant that the druids have always thought to be sacred," he said vaguely. Druids? What did Morgana think she was doing hanging such a plant in the castle? His father would throw quite the fit if he knew…

"And?" Morgana prompted.

"_And_ there's, uhm, a tradition that stemmed from that."

"And that tradition would _be?" _

"If you and another person are caught underneath it… you're supposed to… kiss them or bad luck will befall both of you." He finished, eyes shying away from Arthur. Morgana turned her gaze back on Arthur then, expectant and triumphant.

"That's just… silly superstition. Nothing more." Arthur shrugged, scoffing slightly.

"Right, and how often have _silly superstitions_ come back to haunt you when you've ignored it in the past, dearest Arthur?" Morgana crossed her arms, still looking rather pleased with herself.

Arthur wondered then, whether he was mad at her or actually happy with her for pulling such a stunt. She probably thought she was going to embarrass him, make him do something he did not want to do at any cost to his personal well-being. How could she know, after all, that he had wanted to kiss Merlin from the moment he had stood up to him, had defended that boy he had been bullying with his old _friends, _had held his own in an actual fight against him the time they met after that?

She _couldn't_ know, of course. She was just being her usual self, trying to cause Arthur some sort of grievance.

"Just kiss him and get it over with, Arthur. I won't tell if you won't." Morgana promised with a sly wink.

Arthur shot her a look, but, after a few more minutes of her goading and Merlin blushing, Arthur sighed and turned to Merlin, gave him an almost apologetic look, cupped his face carefully, gently, and then pulled him close to him, melting into a kiss that would not have been were it not for Morgana.

Merlin sighed against him, and Arthur pretended not to hear it when he pulled back, quickly shifting his gaze from Merlin to Morgana before giving her his well practiced annoyed look. He stalked away from her and her giggling then, Merlin lagging behind just a bit.

Right, that would not be happening again. Not in front of Morgana, anyway.

Which is why he later asked Merlin to hang some of that mistletoe in his room as well—because it actually looked pretty cool to him, even if it was some odd druid plant. Whatever.

And when he happened to catch Merlin under it time and time again afterwards… Well, he couldn't very well have bad luck befall the crowned prince of Camelot and his faithful manservant, now could he?

**Fin.**


	14. Arthur's Family

**I couldn't quite decide which way I wanted to approach this prompt, soooo you'll be getting two chapters inspired by the same one.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Merlin. Though if I did, could you imagine? Like, I'd do things so differently and just... It'd be awesome but horrible at the same time.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 14: **_  
Family_

* * *

**Fic:**

Technically speaking, Arthur had never formally introduced Merlin to his father and sister. They had been living together for _years_, had been dating for even longer, but since Uther and Morgana lived out of town, and none of them much enjoyed travel, they had just… never met.

Sure, there had been shared pictures and stories and the occasional phone conversation, but there had been no formal face-to-face meeting.

Until now.

Morgana had been itching to come visit Gwen, whom she'd been best friends with growing up, and Uther had decided to accompany her since she was bound to go visit Arthur while she was there and didn't Arthur have a serious live-in boyfriend that he had never met?

So it had been decided that Uther and Morgana would come in, meet Merlin, maybe have dinner, and then retire to their hotel that Uther had insisted they book because he couldn't very well be expected to sleep on their couch or anything while he was there. The day after, Uther would attend to some business in the city, Morgana would visit their friends and catch up with everyone, and then Christmas dinner would be at Arthur and Merlin's house just a couple of days afterwards.

But first, Merlin had to meet them.

Straightening the wrinkles out of his button-down, Merlin sat on the edge of their dark, worn out, faux leather couch and glanced between the front door and the clock on the wall, Arthur and the front door, the clock and Arthur. Morgana and Uther were due any moment now and Merlin could not have been more _nervous_.

He and Arthur were stable and secure enough in their relationship that a bad first impression wouldn't be the end of the world or anything, but they were Arthur's _family_ and Merlin wanted, more than anything, for them to _like_ him.

"Merlin, love, relax," Arthur clucked his tongue, slid over on the couch and rested his hands on Merlin's tense shoulders. "They're going to _love_ _you_," he assured him, his strong hands falling into an easy rhythm on Merlin's tense and sore muscles, his fingers trailing away to brush at his collarbone in a way meant to distract and relax him.

"And what if they don't?" Merlin whined under his touch, relaxing against all logic. If Arthur's family didn't like him, could he _really_ stay in a relationship with him? If Hunith didn't like Arthur, could Merlin have stayed in a relationship with _him? _

"_I'll_ still love you, so it doesn't matter, now does it?"

"But they're your family!"

"And _you_ are the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. If they don't love you as much as I do—no one else could ever love you that much, anyway—then they'll learn to. Trust me." Arthur assured him, leaning over to kiss his neck.

Merlin sighed, relaxed against his touch even more. Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe it didn't matter so much what—

_Ding-dong_.

Merlin's tension returned then, his muscles turning rigid under Arthur's hands.

Nope, okay, he was _wrong._ He was still very nervous and what Arthur's father and sister thought of him meant _everything_ and nothing Arthur did or said would ever change that...

"They'll love you," Arthur repeated, yanking Merlin to his feet. "_I _love you. You're going to do great." And then he held him close, kissed him lightly to wash away his nerves and doubts, laced their fingers together and walked to the door hand-in-hand.

Giving Merlin another reassuring smile, Arthur opened the door then, beaming when Morgana threw herself at him and engulfed him in a tight hug. He smiled and squeezed her back, spun her around and planted her back next to their father, then went on to greet his father himself, leaving Merlin standing there awkwardly until Arthur turned back to him, smiling warmly as he put his arm around his shoulders and tugged him close.

"And _this_ is _Mer_lin. Merlin, this is my sister Morgana and my father Uther Pendragon."

Merlin smiled tentatively at them, stuck his hand out to shake Uther's and was met with his stern, stubborn, almost frightening gaze.

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"Yes, I would think so." Uther said in an almost _too_ even tone.

Merlin pulled his hand back, eyes slightly wide.

Morgana smiled and rolled her eyes, threw her arms around Merlin in greeting. "Ignore him, Merlin; it's _really_ great to finally meet you. He's just cranky from the long drive." She told him. He nodded back, told her it was great to finally meet her as well, and then Arthur properly invited them in for a cup of tea.

Settled in at the table with their tea, Uther and Morgana caught Arthur up on all he had missed and Arthur informed them of the same, with Merlin offering the odd detail that he left out or asking the stray question or two that popped up, but otherwise staying silent, observant, and nervous.

When the tea was all finished and Arthur was off in the kitchen ordering some dinner, since neither he nor Merlin felt much like cooking that night, Uther cleared his throat and turned his unnerving gaze back on Merlin.

"Merlin, was it? I hardly know anything about the boy my son's been living with for so many years now. Tell me about yourself. Where are you from, what are your parents like." And he didn't _ask_, Merlin noted, he just... stated what he wanted to know and expected to be informed of it. How the hell Arthur _or_ Morgana had turned out _half-way_ normal with a father such as Uther, Merlin hadn't a clue...

"Ahm," Merlin cleared his throat, forced himself to keep his eyes on Uther's. "Well, I'm from a small town a couple hours out called Ealdor. And I never knew my father, but my mother, Hunith, is the most amazing woman I've ever known. I have nothing but respect for her for managing on her own my whole life—and believe me when I say I did _not_ make it easy sometimes." he chuckled, pulling a face as he glanced at a giggling Morgana.

Uther merely nodded, asking a few more miscellaneous questions before Arthur came back in to inform them that dinner would be no more than an hour at most. Uther excused himself to the bathroom then, and, once he was out of earshot, Morgana turned to Merlin with a wide grin.

"He _loves _ you, Merlin!" she squealed, shoving his arm playfully. He looked to Arthur and his own smiling face, he was nodding enthusiastically, his arm coming up to squeeze Merlin in a sort of half-hug.

"Yeah? How can you tell?"

"Please, if he was _this_ civil with any of my boyfriends, I'd be married by now." Morgana scoffed, eliciting light chuckles from both boys. "And, for what it's worth, _I_ love you. You're _perfect_ for Arthur. He seems to be really crazy about you." She assured him, looking between them with a knowing sort of look on her face.

"See? I told you they'd love you, you idiot, you didn't need to be so _nervous._" Arthur chuckled a moment later, leaning over and pressing a sweet kiss to Merlin's lips.

"I had _every_ right to be, you dollophead," Merlin retorted indignantly, his goofy grin appearing without his permission and taking away from whatever effect he was going for.

"You did _not_. There isn't a soul in this world who doesn't love you, you clotpole." Arthur told him sternly.

Merlin rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he grabbed the back of Arthur's head and pulled him forward for another lingering kiss.

Another moment later, Uther rejoined them and smiled just so at Merlin and Arthur when they pulled apart. Merlin smiled back and then they fell into a conversation about something or another until dinner arrived, Merlin's nerves melting away with finality as they ate and talked and laughed over the meal.

When they were saying goodnight to Morgana and Uther at the front door later that night, Morgana pulled Merlin close for another hug and whispered in his ear, "Welcome to the family, Merlin." He smiled back and nodded his thanks, happy to have been accepted by the other two Pendragons.

**Fin.**


	15. Merlin's Family

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Merlin_. Some wishes just aren't meant to come true, it would seem.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 14:**_  
Family_

* * *

**Fic:**

Because Merlin loved his mother more than anyone else in the world, and because Arthur wanted to prove what a good, erm, _king_ he was, he had decided that the best way to surprise Merlin for Yule, one of the few times of the year when he missed his mother the most, was to send his most trusted knights off to fetch her from Ealdor. So while Arthur kept Merlin otherwise distracted in his chambers one morning, Gwaine, Lancelot, and Leon were to ride out and return as soon as possible with her.

As the first day they were gone wore on and Merlin wondered where his friends were—Arthur had fed him some patrol story that seemed to placate him for short moments at a time—Arthur grew… Nervous. He had met Merlin's mother before—multiple times, in fact—but each time had been when he and Merlin were nothing more than friends…

Now, though, now they were _so much_ _more_ than that.

And Arthur couldn't help but wonder if his mother would approve of him.

Any mother would be glad to have their daughter married off to, or at least courted by, a king, of all people, but Merlin's mother wasn't _any mother_ and Merlin was her son, not daughter, so Arthur felt as though the odds were stacked against his favor. Hell, members of his own court has advised against whatever him and _Merlin _were, which they would not exactly _label_ just yet, so what would his own _mother_ think of their situation?

Merlin noticed his change in disposition through-out the day and most of the next one, noticed he grew more on edge and jumpy, his face lined with worry as the sun crept across the sky, beckoning the night forward. He tried to deny it, but Merlin knew him far too well for that and almost didn't let it go…

Until there was a knock on the door as they took an early dinner and Arthur called for whoever it was to enter. His heart almost leapt out of his chest when Gwaine, Lancelot, and Leon entered first, all beaming with their shared secret.

Merlin twisted around in his chair, greeted his friends with the same old smile of his, and asked where they had been for the past couple of days as he toyed around with the fruit on his plate.

"Had to run a little errand for the king here," Gwaine grinned, throwing a wink to Arthur.

"Oh? What kind of errand?" Merlin inquired, turning to Arthur for half a second before giving the knights his attention once more.

"Something for _you_," Lancelot told him.

"_Me? _But I didn't ask him for—"

"No, it's nothing you asked for," Leon interrupted. "Just something… Arthur thought you needed, especially this time of year."

"What—"

Arthur gave Gwaine a look then, nodded towards the door. Best to get it over with. They could go on all night like they were, all of them cheeky and offering nothing in response to Merlin's albeit adorable confusion and questions. It would do little for Arthur's nerves, after all, so it was better not to go that route.

Gwaine walked to the door, opened it, and ushered someone, Hunith, in. She beamed when she saw Merlin, the look of a mother being reunited with her child after far too long apart.

"Mother!" Merlin grinned, pushing from the table to greet her. He engulfed her in the sort of hug he rarely offered anyone aside from Arthur, and even then, it was still rare. It was the sort that always made Arthur feel loved and safe, and he wondered, as he watched Merlin and his mother reunite, if it was inherited from Hunith herself.

"Arthur, you idiot," Merlin grinned when he offered his mother a seat at the table and quickly served her a plate of food a few moments later. "You didn't have to do this," he shook his head, still beaming. "None of you did," he looked back to the knights who all brushed him off. _Of course_ they had to do it, Arthur had asked them to. And even if he hadn't, Merlin was still their friend, they wanted him to be happy. After everything he had ever done for them, it was certainly the least they could do.

Gwaine, Leon, and Lancelot all left then to go get cleaned up and grab some dinner of their own, leaving the three to dine in a chattering mess of catching up and reminiscing. Arthur mostly sat and ate, observing Merlin and his mother as he doted on her and she did the same, reminding him to mind his manners and asking if he had managed to find any more trouble.

"I'm dining privately with the king of Camelot, mother, don't you think trouble is sort of implied there?" he grinned, tossing Arthur a look that had him laughing and shaking his head, wondering if such talk was really appropriate in front of his _mother,_ of all people. Hunith didn't seem to mind, as she just laughed along with them, so he figured it was okay.

The rest of the meal passed much too quickly, and the next thing Arthur and his still nervous stomach knew, Merlin was going on and on, wondering where his mother might stay while she was there and why Arthur hadn't given him a fair warning so he could prepare something for her. He silenced him with a rise of his hand, told him that everything had been taken care of and that he had had a servant make up a room for her already and if Merlin would like to show her to it, it was just around the corner. Merlin grinned his thanks and turned to his mother, asked her if she was ready to turn in for the night.

"If you don't mind, Merlin, I'd just like a moment alone with Arthur here," she said in response. Merlin gave them both a look but shrugged and promised to wait just outside the door for her, making his exit much too quickly for Arthur to think of any reason why Hunith would want a word with him. Had he done something wrong, something to offend her? Was it not his place to surprise her and Merlin with such a trip?

"Don't look so nervous, Arthur," Hunith told him, calming him slightly. Merlin's mother seemed to have that effect on people, it was probably where Merlin got it from. "I just wanted to thank you, for taking such good care of my son," she told him. He nodded, felt himself relax at her words. And here he thought she was going to rip his head off or something…

"It's really _him_ taking care of _me_, but thank you," he told her.

"As good as he is for you, you are just as good for him. You give him… _purpose_. Before he came to Camelot, he was so lost, and always an outsider. But then he came here," she looked at him, her eyes full of light and happiness mixed with a bit of melancholy. She missed her son, he knew that, maybe more than Merlin missed her, but she really did seem happy that Merlin was in Camelot and not Ealdor. "And his life… it's completely different now. He seems to be more accepted here, he has more friends, he has _you_, and I know he cares a great deal for you, Arthur Pendragon." She told him.

Arthur just nodded in response, left quite speechless as she hugged him and gave him a pat on the arm before she turned to go to her chambers for the night.

"You… you don't mind, then?" He asked tentatively just when she reached the door. It was now or never, he figured. Either he asked her how she felt about him and Merlin _now_, or he probably _never_ would. "About me and Merlin, I mean?" he finished when she stopped to listen to him.

She turned to look at him over his shoulder. "Of course not. You make him _happy_, and that's all any mother ever wants for her child." She told him softly.

Then she pulled the door open and walked out, met with a patiently waiting Merlin on the other side of it.

Left in silence as the door swung shut again, Arthur felt at peace. Merlin's mother approved—_of course she did._ Why would he ever think anything different? Merlin demanded of him later that night as he pressed kiss after loving kiss to his lips, his neck, the top of his chest—and that was all Arthur really wanted out of her visit.

_That_, and to see Merlin smile that wide, loving smile of his he always had on his face whenever he saw her after so long apart.

But that was just an added bonus compared to the wonderful feeling that _was_ Hunith's approval.

**Fin.**


	16. Scarves

**Disclaimer: **Hisa-Ai does not own _Merlin _and she would like very much for you to stop reminding her of that fact, thank you very much.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 15: **  
_Scarves_

* * *

**Fic:**

The worst part about winter, as far as Arthur was concerned, was when it got so cold outside that he had no choice but to layer up. He didn't mind the chainmail and his armor and cape, that was obviously a given, but the further into winter they got, the nippier the air was, the _more _he was expected to wear. Like a thicker cloak, more shirts and occasionally trousers, thick winter gloves—it was all very hindering and restrictive of his movements and he didn't like it. Not one bit.

But the truth of the matter was, it _was_ growing quite cold, and if he didn't find some way to keep himself warm, he would probably get sick. And as much as the extra layers restricted his movements, being sick in bed would restrict him even more. So there had never really been much of a way around it before.

This year, though, he was determined to find some sort of alternative to all those layers. He was _going_ to find a way to stay warm without wearing quite so many layers if it was the last thing he did. He was sure of it.

It took him a lot of observing, a lot of talking to too many people about fabrics and other girly things, but finally the answer to came to him, just by observing his very own manservant.

The thing about Merlin was that he was scrawny, sure, and he never wore as many layers as Arthur or any of the other knights did, but he never seemed much bothered by the cold. Maybe he just didn't let it show—coming from Ealdor, he was probably used to being cold during the long winter months—or maybe it was something else. Maybe something like his jacket, or his scarves, perhaps. They didn't exactly look too warm, but what else could it be?

Deciding he needed to find out for himself, Arthur took it upon himself to sneak into Merlin's room in Gaius' chambers one day when he had sent him off to the market to run some fool's errand. Knowing he needed to be quick about it to limit the chance of being seen sneaking back out, Arthur pursed his lips when he came to the middle of his room, hands on his hips as he looked around. The room was in complete disarray, of course, books and papers and clothes all over the floor, bed, the table on the far-side of the room…

Ah, just there, on the bed, was Merlin's blue scarf. It looked more winter appropriate than the others he owned—the light green one that was thrown on the floor and the red one Merlin was wearing that day. He quickly yanked it up and stuffed it away, then made his way out of Merlin's room, out of Gaius' chambers, and back to his own, ducking the guards that patrolled the halls and his laughing knights as they walked the halls looking for him.

Once back in his own room, he took the pilfered scarf out and looked it over, but had to shove it just under his mattress a moment later when his door swung open and Merlin entered, cheeks rosy and nose red-tipped from the cold outside. He started chattering about finally finishing Arthur's errands and how it was bloody cold outside—did he know that? Because from the way he was always having him go out and do the stupidest of things, one would assume the prince had no sense of the weather outside at all…

And on and on he went, Arthur rolling his eyes and replying in an appropriate manner for a while while Merlin darted about the room, finishing the odd chore before it was finally time to join his father for dinner. Swept up in the proceedings of the rest of the night, and then falling asleep just as soon as his head hit the pillow, Arthur did not get the chance to pull Merlin's scarf back out until the next morning after Merlin fed him and had him dressed.

Merlin had seemed rather irritated and _off_ as he had gone about his morning chores, snapping at Arthur outside of their friendly banter at the smallest of innocent comments, until finally Arthur had enough of it. He was the prince, after all; Merlin would not talk to him like that. At least, not without telling him _why_.

"So what's got you so upset today?" he asked finally, shooting him an almost annoyed look.

"Nothing."

"Come on, _Mer_lin, we both know you're lying." Arthur goaded.

"It's nothing, really, just…" he sighed, dropped his hands from his hips and shook his head, looking off out the nearby window.

"Just what? Come on, Merlin, don't make me put you in a headlock," Arthur threatened playfully, smiling when he saw Merlin's lips tug upwards at the familiar threat.

"I just…" he sighed again. "You're going to call me a girl, but… you know these," he brought his hand up to tug at the light-green scarf around his neck. "My neckerchiefs?" he asked, and Arthur nodded, trying not to look in the direction of his bed.

Ah, he had figured Merlin would notice it missing, but he hadn't quite figured out the best way to tell him… Hell, he hadn't figured out _any_ way to tell him that he had stolen one of his scarves. He had supposed he had been hoping Merlin would just see him wearing it and connect the dots, but now… Damn, _now_ what was he going to tell him? It was rather silly, when he thought about it. Here he was, the prince of Camelot, and he had stolen his manservant's neck-wear...

People were _really_ going to wonder what was wrong with him.

"Well, I can't seem to find my blue one. And it's weird, I thought I'd left it on my bed just yesterday morning, but I went back there last night and it just… wasn't there. I tore my room apart looking for it, but I still couldn't find it." He shrugged, lips pursed and eyes squinted with the memory. Arthur tried not to scoff, tried not to let out a reply about his room already being torn apart and what other damage could he have done to it, really? Honestly, cleaning it might have been the way to go instead of thrashing it more, but he still wouldn't have found it, anyway.

"It's almost like someone took it," Merlin said absent-mindedly. "But… why would someone go into the court physician's chambers and just steal some servant's necker?" he asked rhetorically.

Arthur pulled a face, trying to feign disbelief to match Merlin's own. Damn, he'd screwed up. He had _obviously_ screwed up. Maybe he should just put it back? He couldn't, though, could he? Because then Merlin would just go off and try to figure out how it'd gotten there and who in their right mind would return something as insignificant as that after they'd gone to the trouble of stealing it in the first place...

He could always just lose it in the halls and hope it found its way back to Merlin through the other servants or one of the knights or guards he'd come to befriend over the years…

"It's just a scarf, though," Arthur shook his head at last, trying to paint his face into one of disbelief and impatience. "Surely you can just get a new one? Guinevere, even, could probably make you one." He suggested. "And she'd probably only require you to get the fabric for it, which you can just nick from around here; no one would miss it, trust me," he said, his tone secretive and almost playful.

Merlin just shook his head at what Arthur thought was actually a pretty great idea, lips pursed. "It's not the scarf itself," he sighed. "I… Erm… My mother, you see," he twisted his fingers around the one just around his neck, his movements and body language suggesting to Arthur that whatever he said next would just make Arthur feel guilty for taking the damned thing in the first place.

"Back when I was in Ealdor, Will and I… Got in a bit of trouble once—well, all the time, really, but this time… It was really bad, and some of the men in the village didn't… well, they didn't quite like me or Will much beforehand," he shrugged. Arthur's eyebrows worked themselves together, a crease of wonder and worry creating itself on his forehead. "So, after this one time, after a stupid prank gone wrong, they took it upon themselves to… bring justice upon us." He moved his had in an exaggerated manner, trying to convey the meaning without using the actual words.

And it worked.

When someone sought to bring justice upon those they felt had wronged them themselves instead of seeking out a fair and proper trial, it generally meant severe beatings, if not a brutal, painful death.

And someone had done that to Merlin—_his_ Merlin. He had half a mind to journey out to Ealdor and bring justice upon those so-called _men_ himself, but Merlin's voice brought him back from his anger before much of a plan could begin to form itself.

"They nearly killed us—not quite, obviously, but nearly. I think the only thing that kept them from finishing the job was that they knew our mothers and liked them well enough. Anyway," he swallowed, his tone suggesting it was a hard memory to relive, even just to relay it for Arthur. "While we were recovering—I was stuck in bed for nearly a week, they got me so bad—my mother was worried about the bruising around my neck from where one of the men had tried to strangle me, and Will. She didn't want me walking around for everyone to see what they'd done to me, to us. So her and Will's mother got this fabric together and they made us these scarves—three for each of us and in the same colors, so we could match, like we always liked to do when we were younger," he shook his head, clicking his tongue at the memories.

"After we were completely healed, Will burned one of his, gave the other two away, but I'd grown used to wearing them, so I just… never quite took them off for too long at a time," he shrugged, eyes coming back to catch Arthur's.

Damn, he _really_ shouldn't have listened to his explanation. Now he felt extremely guilty about nicking the damn thing. He hadn't really thought there was a story behind it, just thought it was some random article of clothing Merlin had become too attached to.

He let out an annoyed sort of sigh and walked over to his bed, ignoring Merlin's wondering gaze and the question not quite off his lips as he reached under his mattress and yanked out the damned piece of fabric that was far too scratchy for him to wear anyway. In silence, he walked it over to Merlin and answered the unasked question of why he had it stuffed between his mattress before Merlin jumped to odd and, quite frankly, _embarrassing_, conclusions.

Merlin's face twisted into a smile, his laugh ripping through the room when Arthur finished retelling his story and how and _why_ he had come to have the scarf in his possession.

"I didn't laugh at _your_ story," Arthur grumbled, holding the scarf between them in still more annoyance and indignation.

"That's because my story wasn't _funny. _But the prince of Camelot sneaking into his servant's chambers to steal a magic scarf? Now _that's_ funny," he snorted.

"I did not say I thought it was magical!"

"No, just that you thought it kept me warmer than any of your things keep you." Merlin rolled his eyes.

Arthur let out a huff, suddenly not feeling so bad about taking the damn thing anymore. He turned away from Merlin, just about ready to send him off to do something demeaning to make up for laughing at him—though he had probably deserved it, he was willing to admit. he just didn't like that Merlin thought that.

"Wait," Merlin choked out, his laughter subsiding enough for him to catch Arthur's elbow and spin him around. "Since you went to so much trouble," he said, taking the scarf out of Arthur's grip. "At least… try it on yourself, see if it's really as warm as you thought it was," he nodded to himself, quickly working his hands and the scarf around Arthur's neck in the same way he wore it before Arthur could object.

Merlin's fingers danced lightly over his skin before leaving it again; he took a step back and admired his handiwork, a proud sort of grin spreading over his face as he took in the sight.

Arthur cleared his throat, sent Merlin to fetch his hand-mirror and brought a hand up to finger the fabric. It wasn't quite as itchy around his neck as he thought it would be. And maybe it was thinner than he thought it would be—the red one was probably the best one, the thickest one, he figured—but it was still… _Warm_. Maybe it was because it was _Merlin's, _and it was important to him but he was still letting Arthur wear it, but Arthur was sure that it really _was_ warmer than anything he owned.

Merlin passed him his mirror and perhaps he didn't quite pull it off in the same way that Merlin did, but he thought he looked quite nice in it, regardless.

"What do you think?" he asked Merlin teasingly.

"Mmm, nice, matches your eyes and everything," Merlin teased back, taking the mirror and throwing it onto his bed without second thought.

Arthur laughed, Merlin smiled wide, and, somehow, when Arthur moved to take it off and return it to him, Merlin convinced him to hold on to it for him, maybe for the rest of the winter. Arthur was touched, of course, and wore the damn thing nearly every day, ignoring the looks from his father, the giggles from Morgana, the teasing from his knights, the whispers in the halls.

He had been right all along: Merlin's scarves did a _fine_ job of keeping a person plenty warm during the long winter months. It just turned out it wasn't entirely the scarves themselves that did it.

**Fin.**


	17. Naughty or Nice

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Merlin_. I do, however, own a few bags of Hershey kisses that I've been snacking on all day—_but_ that's neither here nor there...

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 16:**_  
Naughty or Nice_

* * *

**Fic:**

As far as ugly Christmas sweaters went, the ones Arthur and Merlin were staring down at were actually pretty decent. Or rather, not quite as hideous as they _could_ have been.

There was one red one, one green one, and they were almost completely identical, from the crisscrossing lines of glitter and sparkle to the Christmas trees and snowflakes, each one with a word sprawled across the middle of it, big and bright and glittery.

The red one had the word _Naughty_ written across it, the green one _Nice_. And the note that came resting atop them was written out in Morgana's hand, the ink itself glittery and cheerful in a way that almost made both boys want to vomit.

_For the most adorable couple I know.  
Wear them on Christmas so everyone  
will know once and for all which one  
of you is naughty and which one is nice.  
I look forward to seeing you in them.  
-Kisses,  
Morgana._

One phone call and a plethora of pissed and amused text messages later, and both Arthur and Merlin knew there was no way around it. They had to wear the god-awful sweaters when Christmas came around or they would both suffer at Morgana's hand. And _revenge, _they both knew all too well, was one of the things Morgana was best at.

The sweaters were thrown in a drawer, though, and forgotten about until Christmas Eve came around and Morgana sent them each a text, wondering if they had decided who would be known as _Naughty_ and who would be known as _Nice_. It couldn't have been an easy task, she mused, what with so many factors having to go in to deciding who was to be known as what. Whichever sweater they happened to wear the next day, none of their friends were likely to let them forget about it for quite a long time, she told them.

Admittedly, deciding who would wear which sweater hadn't exactly been at the top of their to-do list. It just hadn't seemed like an issue. They would each wear one and that was all there was to it. It didn't quite _matter_ who wore which one—they were both equally ugly and atrocious, after all. No one was coming out on top in this.

But then they'd gotten Morgana's texts, and they began to wonder: _Did it_ matter who wore which one? _Would_ their friends view their relationship any differently if _Merlin_ was wearing the naughty one or if _Arthur_ was wearing it?

Of course not, they were just being ridiculous.

"So I'll just wear the naughty one then," Arthur shrugged almost indifferently, holding the red sweater up in front of himself in their bedroom mirror.

"Or_ I_ could wear the naughty one," Merlin proposed back, reaching out to take it from him. Arthur stepped out of his reach, clutching it to his chest protectively.

"But you just said it doesn't matter who wears which one,"

"So did _you_."

"Right, but…" Arthur gestured widely with his free hand, trying to make some point or another that he didn't have words for.

"_But_ what?" Merlin teased, raising his eyebrows with an amused sort of smile on his face.

"But if _you_ wear the naughty one, what if people think that I'm the one who, you know…"

"Do you _really_ think people are going to make assumptions about our sex life based on a _sweater?" _

"Well…"

"Not like they'd be _wrong_, anyway..." Merlin made a face of thoughtfulness

"That's not the _point_, _Mer_lin!" Arthur cut in sharply, throwing the sweater over on to the bed to rest with the _Nice_ one. "And that's only—"

Merlin interrupted with a grin of his own, "What does it _matter_, Arthur? They're our _friends,_ it's Christmas, and these are just—just _sweaters._ Morgana's just trying to get under your skin like she always does. And you're _letting _her. Honestly, Arthur," Merlin shook his head and walked over to him, put his arms around his shoulders and buried his face in his neck.

Arthur sighed, watching Merlin in mirror as he nuzzled his neck, left a trail of kisses up to his earlobe and nibbled on it, making Arthur moan. "I think," he whispered huskily, "We should just _see_ who deserves that _Naughty _one."

Arthur chuckled, wrapped his arms around Merlin and brought him closer to him, their hearts thudding against each other as he embraced him passionately, their mouths melting together in a swirling, blissful sort of way. "That sounds like a challenge," he murmured against Merlin's lips.

"Might be because it _is_ one." Merlin mumbled back, letting Arthur guide him to the bed and shove the sweaters off of it before pushing _him_ down, their mouths and hands already working furiously to prove to the other who would come out with the _Naughty_ sweater, though each of them would _definitely_ be a winner that night.

And the next day, when all their friends were over and Morgana was teasing them about the sweaters, Arthur didn't harbor _any_ hard feelings about having to wear the _Nice_ one. Not when Merlin pulled off _Naughty _so well.

**Fin.**

* * *

**In case you were wondering, Morgana's note may or may not have been inspired by "Pretty Little Liars." I didn't realize it until I was going back and rereading, but, eh, Morgana could probably pull off being "A" if she really wanted to, so no harm done, I suppose.**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	18. Ice Skating

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Merlin_, though I _do_ own a watch, for those of you wondering why these are always so bloody late. I have terrible time-management skills, you see.

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_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 17:  
**_Ice Skating_

* * *

**Fic:**

In retrospect, when Arthur told Merlin the plans his father had made for him for the day, he probably shouldn't have laughed. But by the time he realized his fatal mistake, it was too late. They were already out on some frozen lake in those god-awful boots with blades attached to the bottom of them, wobbling and trying not to fall flat on their faces.

It was some new game or sport, depending on how you viewed it, brought to Camelot by a visiting prince—and wasn't it _always_ visiting royalty that seemed to get Merlin and Arthur into such situations?—that Uther had insisted Arthur take part in at least once, to show solidarity and a willingness to learn from other kingdoms.

Or _something_.

And of course, when Merlin had laughed and teased him about making sure not to fall through the ice to his death or something, Arthur had insisted he come with him. Who was he, he had told the visiting prince and his father, to deny his faithful manservant the same chance at fun and a new game?

"Evil prat," Merlin murmured under his breath as the visiting Prince, Prince Aaryn, showed them how to strap into the boots and not slice their fingers open on the blade at the bottom of it. Arthur had grinned in response, asked Prince Aaryn if the sport was really so dangerous, as his manservant was quite the klutz on solid ground with his regular boots on, so he didn't know how he would be on ice with razor-sharp blades attached to them.

Aaryn assured him that as long as they were careful and the ice wasn't too thin, they would be fine. And then he pushed off the snow onto the frozen lake and started walking them through the steps, giving them what Merlin was sure he thought were helpful pointers.

"Go on, _Mer_lin." Arthur nudged him forward, pushing him out on to the ice without much warning. Merlin shot him a look but quickly focused his attention back on the ice and not falling to his death instead of Arthur close behind him moving forward and passing him in his damned bladed boots—hopefully just as ungraceful as Merlin himself was.

Legs wobbling as he tried to find his _balance_, as Aaryn kept telling them to do, he watched the visiting prince as he moved along the ice with ease, his feet seemingly with minds of their own as he did a few laps along the frozen lake that Merlin didn't quite trust. Of course, he was fucking brilliant at it and for that Merlin hated him just a bit.

He turned his attention to his own feet, looked down at them as he pushed forward on the ice, willing them to stop wobbling and just glide forward gracefully like Aaryn was doing…

So, of course, he fell not two seconds later, too focused on his feet to pay attention to his fucking _balance_ like Aaryn had told him to.

Both princes chuckled at him, Arthur holding out a hand to him to help pull him to his feet as he grumbled incoherently about prat princes ganging up on him in response.

What was he _doing_, he asked himself as Aaryn playfully chastised him for not looking where he was going. He had _magic_, surely he knew of some spell or another that could keep him from falling again...

"Don't look at your bloody feet, fool," Prince Aaryn laughed, telling him to be sure he bent his knees and leaned forward, not backward. Arthur laughed too, though Merlin could tell that he was _really_ two seconds away from falling flat on his royal backside.

Putting some distance between himself and Arthur, he mumbled some words under his breath, looked down as his eyes flashed golden and began to skate forward with a newfound balance and grace that had Aaryn grinning in approval that he was _getting it_, and left Arthur slack-jawed, wondering how the _hell_ he had turned it around so fast.

"Focus on your _center_, Arthur," Merlin grinned, gliding past him at a pace that almost surpassed Aaryn's. "Find your _balance_," he smirked, relishing in the feel of one-upping Arthur once more—and in front of visiting royalty, no doubt.

Oh, he would most _definitely_ be punished for this later, but for the moment, he simply grinned, chatting with Aaryn about the different techniques he had come to find worked best for him over the years and the games he often played out on the ice every winter with his knights and boys from the castle and village. He was a lot like Arthur, Merlin noted, willing to interact and chat with those meant to serve and obey him that most in his position did not give the time of day to.

"You all right back there, Arthur?" Aaryn asked at one point, casting a look back at Arthur and his gritted teeth. He was catching on quickly, as Merlin knew he would, and he hadn't quite fallen yet—a few close calls, though—but he was still moving unsteadily, legs too straight and his body leaning too far back. At least he was _capable_ of moving forward, his feet moving with a skill that just needed a little nurturing. He would get the hang of it, Aaryn was sure. Eventually.

"Just fine, thanks." He replied, though neither Aaryn not Merlin quite believed him.

"You need a hand? A few more pointers maybe?"

"No thanks, Aaryn, I've got this,"

Aaryn grinned, turning his attention back to Merlin. "He always this stubborn?"

"Oh, you have _no idea," _Merlin grinned back, chuckling under his breath.

"Well then you're a better man than I, Merlin. I'd have cracked the lake by now just to shove his stubborn ass under it if I had to serve him for even two minutes." He clucked, doing some elaborate trick and landing without incident, probably doing it just to get a rise out of Arthur and his watching, probably jealous, eyes.

"It does take a certain _skill_ to serve Prince Arthur of Camelot," he admitted with a shake of his head. Not that he'd trade that skill, that job, for anything else in the world.

"Yeah? Well you ever get tired of him," he nodded backwards. "Just know that you've always got a place in my kingdom, in my castle. And remember," he lowered his tone, nodded conspicuously towards Arthur, who was actually catching up to them. "Magic is practiced freely and without prosecution in _my_ kingdom."

Merlin's eyes narrowed, jaw-slackened for half a second as he glanced around. "How did you—"

"Nobody goes from falling flat on their face to skating like a pro in two seconds like that unless they've got a few tricks up their sleeves, Merlin," Aaryn shook his head, almost amused. "Fact that your prince hasn't caught on is almost scary, actually. I'm not sure if he's _trying_ to be oblivious to the truth, or if he's just blinded by love," Aaryn shrugged indifferently. "Either way, I'm going to take an extra-long bathroom break now, if you want to give him a little _lesson_ so he doesn't go back to the palace feeling quite so embarrassed," he raised his eyebrows with his meaning, then announced his plan to go relieve himself to Arthur, and left the pair alone on the ice, walking off through the trees on the blades, even though one of the first things he had told Merlin and Arthur was to _not_ walk on the blades.

"_Mer_lin…" Arthur hissed once Aaryn was out of earshot. Merlin just grinned, moving his feet so they were angled close together, put pressure on his heels so he came to a slow stop, allowing Arthur the moment he needed to catch up to him.

"Yes, sire?" he asked, turning around once Arthur was just behind him.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" he demanded, reaching out and putting his hands on Merlin's shoulders for support.

"I believe Prince Aaryn called it ice skating," he replied cheekily.

"I _know_ what it's called," he hissed in response. "But what do you think you're doing… doing it so _well?"_

"Would you rather I fall flat on my face some more?" he asked, dumb-founded and quite enjoying himself. He could have just as easily done the same enchantment on Arthur, but that would have taken away from his amusement. And if he had to be dragged out to a frozen lake where he could very well fall through and meet his death, he was damn sure going to get some sort entertainment out of it. Even if it _was_ at Arthur's expense and would probably cost him later on.

"Yes, actually. Because then I wouldn't look like a total fool in front of visiting royalty."

"Oh come on, Arthur, you were going to make yourself look like a fool sooner or later, anyway," Merlin told him. "At least you're only doing it in front of Aaryn and not his entire visiting court. Now _that_ would have been embarrassing."

"This is _serious_, Merlin. If Aaryn thinks I cannot perform simple tasks such as this and not be out-done by my manservant, what do you think that will mean for our alliance?"

"He's not going to rip up a treaty because you can't balance on _ice_, Arthur," Merlin rolled his eyes. Honestly, the ridiculous thoughts that went through his mind sometimes. How he had ever managed before Merlin came into his life was just beyond him…

"… And you bothering him probably isn't helping things much." Arthur was saying, Merlin having tuned out the beginning of whatever insane thought he was having. "I can imagine him talking to his father back at their chambers later on. Going on about how incompetent I am, how he was left with just my manservant to entertain him, how dull it had been and—"

"Now hang on a minute," Merlin cut in, his tone sharp and offended. "I'll have you know that Prince Aaryn actually _enjoys_ my company and _appreciates_ the witty conversation I have to offer—far more than you do, at any rate,"

"And what makes you say that?" Arthur asked, his tone unbelieving.

"He offered me a position at his castle," he informed him, not having to add how serious that was. Visiting royalty might make passing comments about how good or bad the servants were, but you didn't just out-right offer a servant a position at your own castle unless you were serious about it. And Aaryn had seemed as serious as it got about his offer.

Arthur's face fell at Merlin's words and he wondered if he should have said anything at all. He didn't want to cause drama between Arthur and Aaryn. Not when Aaryn seemed like such good people, a good friend to have.

Arthur, however, just seemed lost in thought, his face pensive and worried before he asked, "Are you… considering it, then?"

"Considering—No, no. Of course not." Merlin told him quickly, the furious shake of his head almost enough to make Arthur lose his precarious balance. He reached a hand out to steady him, vaguely aware that Arthur might have _actually_ been afraid of losing him to another prince. "Just nice to be offered, that's all," he shrugged, backing up just a touch to give Arthur more room to get his balance back on his own. "You know you're the only prince for me, Arthur," he clucked, squinting his eyes as he gripped Arthur's arms, trying to will him to position his feet correctly.

"You mean that?" Arthur asked, straightening his feet then pointing them to match the angle Merlin had his at.

"'Course," he nodded. "_But,_ if Aaryn becomes a king before you… well, all bets are off." He chuckled.

"Mmm, of course. I'd probably do the same—oh no, wait, that's right, I'm more loyal than you are." Arthur retorted, his face not quite as worried as it had been when he thought Merlin might leave him for another.

"Oh, I'm plenty loyal,"

"That right?"

"Yeah."

"How so?"

"Well, I could just as easily let you continue to make a fool of yourself in front of Prince Aaryn, but instead I'm going to help you."

"I'm not quite sure you know what loyalty _is_, _Mer_lin." Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Hey, I'm not taking the position at Aaryn's, so shut up and do what I tell you," Merlin cut at him, ignoring the stern look he got in return and instructing him on what he needed to do.

It took a few tries, but finally Merlin got Arthur out skating on his own without much difficulty and, when he was a fair distance out, muttered a spell that would help him with his balance, that would get him moving enough to keep up with Merlin and Aaryn once the other prince returned.

The three of them spent the rest of the afternoon gliding on the ice, Aaryn even able to teach them a few odd tricks once it was clear that they both had the hang of things.

By the time they changed back into their regular boots and slung the gifted _ice skates_, as Aaryn called them, over their shoulders, they were all laughing about passing comments made about Merlin's fall at the beginning of their skating adventure and Arthur's lack of balance until Merlin cut in and helped him. The look Arthur shot Merlin at Aaryn's knowing grin that told him they were _so_ going to have a rather unpleasant—for Merlin, anyway—chat later on about all that was well worth it when he brought his hand to Merlin's shoulder and squeezed it, smiled at him appreciatively nonetheless and trudged forward, being mindful to keep himself between Merlin and Aaryn on their journey back to the castle.

Merlin decided then that a jealous Arthur, even if it wasn't quite justified or obvious if you weren't looking close enough, was _definitely_ an entertaining Arthur, one that he for sure hoped crept back up sometime in the near future.

**Fin.**

* * *

******I did some research, and apparently some of the first ice skates were just animal bones attached to your shoes/feet with a strap of leather, and people used long metal poles to push themselves forward on the ice—according to wikipedia, anyway—but I've obviously taken some liberties for the sake of the story. Just to clear that up.**

******Also, just, these two idiots basically taking figure skating lessons from a visiting prince... It amuses me, I'm not even gonna lie.**

******Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	19. Christmas Party

**Disclaimer: **I do not have time to tell you how I don't own _Merlin_. Like, seriously, at this point that should just be a given.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 18: **_  
Christmas Party_

* * *

**Fic:**

"Remind me again why we're doing this." Arthur grumbled, tugging at the collar of his coat as Merlin raised a hand and rang the doorbell just next to the bright red door they were staring at, a colorful and cheerful wreath hanging smack in the center of it. Merlin turned to him, gave him a stern look.

"Because they're our _friends_." He told him, shaking his head.

"Right, but… a Christmas party? We both know this isn't going to end well." Arthur pointed out, shifting on his feet as he watched Merlin roll his eyes.

Okay, so _maybe_ he had no solid evidence that the night was going to be a disaster and _maybe_ Gwen and Lancelot's party would go off without a hitch and it would become a yearly tradition for the friends, but it just as easily could go the other way and the night would end in disaster and chaos and Arthur would just be left standing there, shaking his head and shooting Merlin his 'I told you so' look.

There was always the chance, anyway.

"Gwen's wanted to throw a party of her own for _years_ now and you know it," Merlin told him. "And now that her and Lance are married and bought a house together, she can finally do it. So you're going to be _civil_ and behave yourself. You're going to _smile_ and drink eggnog and eat Christmas cookies and act like you're happy for our friends. And God help you if Gwen says _one word _of you being off moping in the corner, Arthur Pendragon…" he threatened, his eyes hard and narrowed at him.

Arthur pressed his lips into a thin line, Merlin was _hot_ when he was threatening him, there was no doubt about it, but… A Christmas party. Really? Arthur didn't much like them when _Merlin_ was the one throwing them, let alone when his friends did it. Anything else he would have showed up for—hell, Gwaine could have sent him a text telling him they were going to slay a dragon and he would have game—but a party? It had taken Merlin _quite_ a bit of threatening and persuading to get him to change into something presentable and haul his ass over to Gwen and Lance's house, that was for sure.

"And at least this time you don't have to worry about cleaning up afterwards," Merlin added, softening his gaze as he slipped his free arm around Arthur's waist, his other arm holding a bottle of wine and a tin of cookies he had insisted on gifting to Gwen and Lance for having them over.

Arthur let out a sigh, "Fine. Maybe you're right, maybe this won't be so bad. But," he smirked, one of his gloved hands coming up the back of Merlin's neck. "They better have some mistletoe up in there,"

Merlin laughed, tilted his head towards Arthur, his breath wispy in the cool night air but warm on Arthur's lips as he leaned close slowly, eyes falling shut as their foreheads almost touched. Arthur's lips tingled in anticipation as he tugged on Merlin's hair, the clicking of a door opening not registering until Lancelot cleared his throat, a chuckle of a sound that had Arthur frowning as Merlin untangled himself from Arthur and beamed at Lancelot and Gwen sheepishly.

"Glad you two could make it," Gwen said knowingly.

"Are you kidding? We wouldn't miss this for the world—right Arthur?" Merlin told them, squeezing Arthur's hip when he just frowned in response, taking in Gwen and Lance and their, frankly, domestic attire. Matching red, ugly Christmas jumpers layered over green collars, khaki pants, and rosy cheeks. Lance was even wearing a set of _antlers_ with bells attached to them on his head. What a waste of a man.

"I _might_ miss it for that kiss you two just interrupted." He grumbled in response, flinching when Merlin dug his elbow into his side.

Gwen and Lancelot laughed and ushered them in, Merlin handing them the gifts as they passed them and then shrugging out of their coats and throwing them into a closet that Lancelot indicated they should leave them at.

As Merlin walked off with Gwen to go put the wine away, Arthur stood in the doorway with Lance, looking around at the nice little get-together they had organized. There were a couple of tables full of festive food and drink—though the _good_ _stuff_ was in the kitchen, Arthur already knew, from the sight of the little kids running around—Christmas music playing softly in the background, games set up for the kids, some Christmas movie playing in the dining room, the whole room decked out in Christmas lights and decorations galore. All their friends were all milling about, talking, laughing, eating, drinking, and already having a good time.

Elyan, Leon, Gwaine, Percival, Freya, Will, Morgana, and a plethora of other people and children, some that Arthur knew and some he didn't, were filling up the room, the whole thing just _bursting_ with the sort of love and holiday cheer that Arthur knew Gwen loved.

Yes, he was actually quite glad that _Gwen_ had wanted to throw the party this year. Arthur would have _hated_ to have to clean up after all these people.

"If you still want that kiss later on," Lance told him with a grin. "There's some mistletoe in every doorway. I'm pretty sure you can corner Merlin at some point or another." He nodded upwards, stepping covertly out of the line of fire as he pointed it out. Arthur nodded his thanks, a sly grin on his face as he walked around the room and found his way to Gwaine, Leon, and Percival standing around the table with the sweets and candy on it, stuffing handfuls into their pockets and slipping the children pieces every now and then when no one else was looking.

"Freya would have your head if she caught you slipping her niece so much candy, you know," he told Gwaine, clapping him on the shoulder as he snuck up on him. The child in question, a brunette little girl who had a knack for attracting trouble, bolted off, already having scored her candy from him.

Gwaine clicked his tongue at him, "Aw, it's a party, she'd get over it eventually." He grinned in response, picking up a cookie shaped like Santa Claus and biting the head off it.

"Yeah, right a_fter_ she drowned you, anyway. How's it going around here? Miss anything good?" Arthur asked, picking up a chocolate chip cookie and sniffing it before he bit into it. It was warm, chewy, delicious; Arthur was sure it had been made with a recipe Lance had gotten from Merlin, as his knack for baking happened to exceed Gwen's.

"Nope, been pretty boring so far." Percival told him. "What took you guys so long to get here, anyway? Thought Merlin would want to be here early to help set things up."

"He did, but we, uhm, got distracted while he was trying to convince me why we had to come." He grinned around his mouthful of cookie, knowing the guys would catch his meaning.

"What, pre-party sex? Really? Doesn't he normally make you work for something like that?" Gwaine asked.

"It's _Christmas_, Gwaine." Arthur shrugged suggestively. "And then Gwen and Lance interrupted a moment on the porch just now, so I'm pretty sure after-party sex is on the table, too. Though I _really_ would have liked that kiss…" he sighed in defeat, scanning the room as the others rolled their eyes and took to chatting about the other party-goers, placing bets on who'd get drunk first and what sort of stupid things they would do and who would have to record it for blackmail purposes.

Strange, normally, at an event like this, Merlin was back at his side as soon as he could manage, not trusting Arthur not to do or say something colossally stupid in front of everyone. Where was he, Arthur was actually starting to miss his presence…

"—And if Will has _one_ more glass of eggnog, I'm pretty sure he'll try to make-out with Merlin under the mistletoe," Gwaine was saying, catching Arthur's attention instantly. Will was one of Merlin's best friends from when he was a child, but if he tried to kiss Merlin, Arthur had no problem knocking him out where he stood.

Not that he was the jealous type or anything.

"What?" Arthur asked, a bit more defensive than he meant to be.

"Will," Leon said. "You know he's been pining after Merlin for years now, right?" he asked, his face too wide and innocent.

"Since when?" he demanded, sure this was the first he was hearing of such a thing. Merlin had assured him that nothing had ever happened between him and Will, that he was practically a brother to him. Arthur had met him, hung out with him, liked him well enough; let him into his house, his home with _Merlin_, and now he was finding out that he had been pining after him? Somehow, he felt misled, cheated almost.

"Dunno, always, I think." Percival shrugged, nodding over to where Will was downing a glass of, thanks to Gwaine, heavily spiked eggnog, as Gwen would never put out alcohol-laced eggnog with so many children running about, and leaning into a conversation he was having with Freya, who was giggling about whatever it was he was saying.

"But Merlin said—"

"I don't think Merlin _knows_," Gwaine interrupted. "Look how long it took you two to get together because neither of you knew the other felt the same way. I love Merlin just as much as you, but he's never been the best at deducing when someone's romantically interested in him, now has he?" Gwaine asked, nodding towards the kitchen as Merlin walked out of it, talking to Gwen about something as he held two glasses in his hands, his grin widening when he caught sight of Arthur and their friends.

Merlin handed him the cup when he slid up to him, planted a kiss on his cheek and slipped his arm through Arthur's, chatting with the others about how their holidays have been and other various things that Arthur didn't pay much attention to, much too occupied on Will and what he was doing, how he was behaving.

Were they _right?_ _Was_ Will in love with Merlin and planning to make his move under the mistletoe? He would just have to keep Merlin away from doorways for the rest of the night then, since he knew damn well he wasn't going to be able to keep him away from one of his best friends.

Merlin left his side at some point, talking about how he needed to go catch up with Freya and Will for a little while and if Leon could make sure Arthur didn't do anything stupid or borderline illegal, he'd really appreciate it.

The boys, in turn, spent a good amount of time milling about, holding half-way decent "adult" conversations when necessary, but mostly sneaking the children sweets and laughing at immature jokes, drinking too much eggnog, and really just enjoying themselves as they could.

Gwaine, at one point, had made it his mission to catch everyone at the party under the mistletoe and had stationed himself in the doorway leading to the kitchen, catching Percival, Morgana, Gwen, even Merlin under it before Lance had told him if he didn't knock it off he was going to cut him off and make him play in the kiddie corner away from the sugar and alcohol. Moping like a child, he made his way back to a brooding Arthur, who was thoughtlessly munching on some chips, sipping his eggnog, watching Merlin and Will chat about something or another much too close to a doorway for Arthur's taste.

"What's wrong with _you_, princess?" Gwaine asked, half a smile twisting itself back onto his face as Arthur scowled at him and then Will and Merlin. His blood was boiling at the sight. Just… _knowing_ that Will had feelings for Merlin—his Merlin—made the innocent enough looking conversation seem like something entirely different. He could almost _feel_ Will trying to inch Merlin closer and closer to the doorway, where he was going to make his move. And Arthur had been watching him, he'd had two more glasses of eggnog since he and Merlin had arrived, putting Arthur even more on edge.

"Them—Will—you know." He hissed, coherent sentences not his friend at the moment. He loved Merlin, he trusted him, but a drunk Will was a different matter entirely.

"Oh you mean—?" Gwaine asked, nodded towards them as he took Arthur's cup from him and sipped from it.

"Yes, of course—what else would I mean?"

"No need to bite my head off, it's not me you've got the problem with, now is it? Why don't you just… do that talking thing Merlin likes to do so much? See if you can't, er, sort it out or something? I can't actually advise you to start a fight—Gwen would have both our heads—but if it goes down that road…" he shrugged again and nodded towards Percival, Elyan, and Leon. "We've got your back if you need it." He promised. Arthur gave him a look, he knew Gwaine was just looking for some entertainment since nothing else was going on—at Merlin's usual Christmas party, there was always some drunken hi-jinks going down by this point in the night, and Arthur knew he was growing restless from all the peace and quiet.

"If I start a fight, it's not Gwen I'm going to have to worry about and you know it," Arthur rolled his eyes. "But… maybe I _should_ just talk to him…" he mumbled, already beginning his walk over to Merlin and Will.

With a small, polite smile, he asked Will if he might borrow Merlin for just a moment and then tugged him towards the door on the farside of the room, nervously fidgeting with the collar of his shirt as he tried to find the words to express his problem. He was not one for words and he knew it. In fact, he should have thought for two seconds what he was going to say before he just pulled Merlin away, but, ah, it was too late now, now wasn't it?

"Arthur?" Merlin asked, his tone worried as he nudged Arthur's chin up to look at him, his eyes full of the same wonder and worry in his tone. "What's wrong?" he asked gently, stroking the side of his face with his thumb.

"Ah, it's… it's nothing, nevermind." He shrugged, forcing himself to smile lightly. Of course he was just being ridiculous and jealous and it wasn't even worth wasting Merlin's time on it.

Merlin's frown deepened for a moment before quirking up into a smile as he glanced up in the doorway. "Is this about before on the porch?" he asked. "I know Gwen and Lance interrupted us…" he trailed off, one hand on Arthur's cheek, one coming up to the back of his neck and tugging him forward, his lips catching him in the most bittersweet sort of ways that made all Arthur's jealousy and self-loathing melt away. His arms came up to wrap themselves around Merlin, one tugging him closer around his waist, one around his neck, desperate to keep him close for as long as possible before he broke off and laughed breathlessly against his lips, sending a shiver down Arthur's spine as the room broke out in applause and wolf-whistles.

Still laughing, Arthur leaned down and captured Merlin's lips again, placing several small kisses on his lips, the nape of his neck before Elyan appeared and told them they needed to keep it clean for the small children in the room. With a roll of his eyes, Arthur moved out from under the mistletoe, tugging Merlin along with him to grab something to eat from a nearby table.

The rest of the night went quite smoothly, all things considered, and Arthur would be lying if he said he hated it entirely. Gwaine might have been left quite disappointed that no fights broke out, and no one got so drunk that they started dancing on tables or daring each other to jump off the roof with a sheet to see if it worked as a parachute, but everyone else, really, seemed ot have a good time.

As they were collecting their coats and Arthur caught Will's eye as he was leading Freya and her niece out the front door, he smiled at him, all his hostility and jealousy just _gone_.

"Arthur," Lancelot caught him just as he and Merlin were about to leave, arm-in-arm.

"Yeah?"

"Elyan just told me what those idiots were up to earlier tonight," he nodded back towards Leon as he stumbled through the closet and yanked out his coat, waited for Gwaine and Percival to do the same. "So I just wanted to thank you for… I don't know, being the bigger man and not starting a fight. Gwen and I really appreciate it." He insisted, giving him a thankful smile.

Merlin shot Arthur a curious look as his eyes came together in a harsh glare, staring down the three idiots in question as realization set in. Those. _Bastards_. If there was anyone he should knock out, it should be those three…

"What are you talking about?" Merlin asked curiously.

"Arthur didn't tell you? Well, apparently, just after you two got here, Leon, Gwaine, and Percy were filling Arthur's head with these stories of Will being in love with you and hell-bent on catching you under the mistletoe tonight," he shrugged, almost amused with it. "Told him that if he had another glass of eggnog, he'd try to make his move. Really got under his skin with it all." His tone was almost apologetic. But _Lance_ was not the one who should have been sorry. No, those three _idiots_ he called his friends were the ones who were going to be sorry—_very_ sorry indeed.

"Will in love with _me?" _Merlin snorted. "He's so into Freya you couldn't pay him enough to kiss anyone else—let alone _me." _He turned to Arthur, his face softening. "You actually thought that? Is that why you've been acting so strange all night? Is that what you were going to talk to me about under the mistletoe?" he asked, his tone suggesting a reassuring kiss was about to come Arthur's way.

"Sorry, if you two will excuse me," Arthur untangled his arm from Merlin's, eyes still set on Leon, Gwaine, and Percival as they walked through the hallway, nearing the front door. "I have some idiots to attend to."

So Gwaine would get his drunken, party entertainment after all, it would seem. And all it would cost him was a split lip, a bloody nose, and death threats from Gwen and Merlin for the remainder of the year.

And Arthur's 'I told you so' look might have been hindered by his black eye, but he was_ pretty sure_ Merlin got the message regardless.

**Fin.**


	20. Silver and Gold

**Disclaimer: **Mmm, sorry, no, still don't own _Merlin_. I know, it upsets me, too, but, like, what're you gonna do about it?

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_31 Day of Christmas_

**Day 19: **_  
Silver and Gold_

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**Fic:**

It was customary for everyone dining at the feast on the first day of Yuletide to look their very best. They wore their best clothes, had their faces painted and shaved, wore their hair almost _too_ elaborately for a _feast_, and those of the court and visiting royalty wore their best jewelry.

Looking down the table, pouring a drink or serving food or just chatting away with one of the knights or whohaveyou, Merlin was often damn near blinded by the candlelight reflecting off the silver and gold everyone at the table was wearing. Some people just looked _gaudy_ and tacky, they were wearing so much, but others wore just the right amount, with simply a few rings or their crown or perhaps a necklace or a tasteful pair of earrings on the ladies. Sure, it was customary, expected, that they all look their best and wear a lot of their finest jewelry, but there had to be _some_ limit, Merlin was sure.

Of course, that had been back when Merlin was just Arthur's servant. The view from next to Arthur, as the Court Sorcerer _enjoying_ the feast and not just serving at it, was bound to be, well, _different_.

Even though the rest of the court had insisted upon a pay-raise for Merlin once his title was changed, he didn't actually own anything… _Feast worthy_, as Arthur would call it. He still wore his same servant clothes, still kept his hair messy, still didn't own any sort of jewelry. Really, the only thing that set him apart from the actual servants these days was the fact that Arthur yelled at anyone who happened to give him an order instead of expecting him to fulfill it.

But with the feast fast approaching, Arthur himself had seen to the tailoring of Merlin's new clothes—"Just wear them to the feast so the visiting kings don't think I've allowed a _fool_ to help me make my decisions so far." He had insisted, giving Merlin a wild-eyed look when he opened his mouth to protest—and had to remind him, numerous times, that he was not to serve anyone, offer to refill anyone's cup or anything of the such. He was the _Court Sorcerer_ now and he should start acting like one. It was fine when it was just them and the knights, people who had known him when he was still Arthur's manservant, but when other kings were visiting, he needed to at least _pretend_ he knew what he was doing. For Arthur and the sake of Camelot.

Merlin rolled his eyes every step of the way, but otherwise didn't resist much. As long as Arthur didn't try to make him don all the gaudy jewelry that the others did to, he didn't much mind all the extra attention the king was showering him with. He almost enjoyed it, even.

The day the feast was to take place, Merlin was in his chambers—he had even gotten his own _chambers_ in the castle not a minute's walk away from Arthur's when he'd been made Court Sorcerer—looking down at the clothes he was to wear that night. They were... fancy looking, finely made, having come from Gwen herself as a favor to Merlin, though they looked just as uncomfortable as they probably were. Gwen had tried, she had told him, but he wasn't quite used to it, so they would probably seem stiff and restricting to him no matter what they were made of.

And he was meant to wear them all night. For several nights in a row.

Just. _Great_.

His door swung open then, and he knew it was Arthur even before he turned around, as everyone else knocked these days. "You need something?" he asked, lips pursed as he shook his head, trying to remember the last time he might have been as uncomfortable in clothing as he was sure he was going to be that night.

"As a matter of fact," and Merlin could _hear_ the smirk in Arthur's voice as he closed the door, walked across the room and stood with his hands behind his back. "I do." Merlin turned around, arms crossed pensively as he raised an eyebrow, prompting Arthur to continue.

"I have something for you," Arthur continued, grinning widely.

He was only still in his nightclothes—his red pants and thin white shirt that swooped low on his chest—though it was nearing midday. He had never quite gotten around to hiring a new servant after Merlin was promoted, so he often spent a good bit of his day just a tad lost in things when Merlin didn't take it upon himself to stop by and do the littlest of things for him anyway, though it really wasn't his responsibility anymore.

He would never tell Arthur, but he got a bit of a thrill, a sense of nostalgia and longing, when he went through Arthur's wardrobe and laid out his clothes for the day, when he helped him into his armor before training, when he went over his schedule for the day, when he drew his bath for him…

"Is that right?" Merlin asked, pulling a curious face.

"Yes. Do you want to guess what it is?"

"Well it can't be a day off, I can just take those whenever I feel like it now," Merlin shrugged, grinning a second later. The great Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot, was standing in his room in his nightclothes, his hands clasped behind his back as he played a guessing game with someone who used to serve him. He couldn't quite help but find the situation _humorous_, if anything.

"Please, as though I'd let you have one of those anyway," Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I _am_ the Court Sorcerer, you know. If I want a day off, I think I'm entitled to it,"

"But _I_ am the King, so I think I'm entitled to tell you no."

"But _I_ have magic, I could just curse you or something until you let me have my way," Merlin shrugged with the teasing threat. Of course, he probably wouldn't take it that far just to get a day off. _Probably_.

"You do that and I'll have you in the stocks for a _month_."

"Could just use my magic to get out of it."

"I'm pretty sure that's cheating."

"I'm pretty sure you're right." Merlin shrugged again, Arthur's smile and slight eye-roll enough to make him grin wider.

"Are you going to guess or not?" Arthur demanded, his tone still light and teasing.

"Uhm, I don't know… A pardon from attending this feast tonight?" he tried, gesturing to the clothes laid out on his bed.

"Mm, close, but no." Arthur's smile widened and he finally brought his hands from behind his back, revealing a white box with the insignia of the royal jeweler on it. Curious, Merlin reached out to take the lid off—why was Arthur bringing him such a box, after all?—but Arthur yanked it back out of his grasp a second later, shook his head at him.

"Arthur, what—"

"_Mer_lin," Arthur interrupted, holding the box close to him. "I know this has been an adjustment for you—going from _serving_ me to _being_ served—and I know you're still struggling with everything. I know you might not think you belong at that table tonight, but," he shrugged, his gaze as soft as his tone was now. "You do, all right? You do," Arthur assured him.

Merlin swallowed, watched Arthur fiddle with the box for a moment.

He didn't know how Arthur knew that, how he was able to read his fears like that—he thought he was _so_ careful concealing that sort of thing, but ever since Arthur had found out about his magic, he also… Seemed to know everything else. Like he could see everything there ever was and ever would be to Merlin. It would have been unnerving if it had been anyone but Arthur.

"So, I know you're going to _hate_ this, but you have to wear it. It's customary—no exceptions." Arthur finally took the lid off, revealing a row of rings and a couple of necklaces, all silver or gold in color, exceptionally made by the best Camelot had to offer and beautiful even in the shadows cast by Arthur and Merlin as he came closer, leaned over the box to examine it.

"You're not serious," Merlin shook his head, making a face at Arthur.

"Sorry, Merlin, no exceptions." He repeated, thrusting the box at him. "It's all as good as what I'm going to be wearing. And look here," he picked up the silver necklace, a thick chain with a circle hanging off it, a deep blue crescent moon protruding from the metal. He turned it over, let his fingers trail over the letters engraved on it. "I cheated a bit, had the moon and your name put on it. Thought you'd like that more than what the jeweler suggested." He said, taking his bottom lip in in an uncharacteristic reveal of nerves.

Merlin's hand came up to stroke over the letters of his name. _Merlin._ He smiled, nodding as he turned it back over in Arthur's hand and stared quizzically at the moon. His name he understood, but the moon?

"It's, uhm," Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. "The night I found out about your magic… The moon was waning, so…" he shrugged as Merlin laughed at the sentimentality. And he called _Merlin_ a girl?

"What's on the gold one, then?" he asked, reaching for it. It was just the same as the silver one, only the front of the circle was bare and the back of it had _Emrys_ engraved on it.

He swallowed, nodding once again.

He hadn't been sure what to expect of it, really. Just as Merlin was still warming up to the idea of not being a servant anymore, Arthur was still warming up to the idea of Merlin being the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. He didn't really… Well, he didn't expect Arthur to have a way to express anything about that part of him just yet.

"It's blank." He said, biting his lip.

"Yeah, but…That's on purpose, you know," Arthur laughed. Merlin's eyes came up to find Arthur's at the sound, so carefree and almost... _wonderful_. "The _Emrys _you isn't… It's _you_, but it's a different part of you. I've seen you and your magic at work, Merlin, I've seen you do spells and save people, kill people, do incredible things, but when you do it, when you're using your magic, you're accessing a part of you that's_ so different_ from the you you usually are. It's… more powerful, but weaker and amazing and a thousand other things and just… there's really no way to capture that other than with the color of your eyes when you do it." he told him, giving him a soft, reassuring smile with his words.

Merlin nodded slowly. "So… you like one part of me better than the other?" he asked, unsure.

"No. No, no, no. No, don't be ridiculous. I like all of you—well, as much as I can like a dollophead like you, anyway," he teased. "I just mean… God, Merlin, you _know_ I'm not good with _words_ like this," he reached a hand up to run his hand through his already messy hair.

Merlin laughed at him, placated with his words, the messy rush of his sentence trying to fix what he thought he'd messed up.

"All right, I get it, I was just teasing." He took the silver one from Arthur's hand as he let out a breath. "It's… this is nice, Arthur, thank you." He slipped it over his head, let it fall just beneath his scarf as he turned his attention back to the rings. "But do I _really_ have to wear these? If people find out you've been giving me _rings _and jewelry, they might get the wrong idea, you know…"

"Nice try, but you still have to wear them. Half the castle already knows, anyway," he shrugged, watched as Merlin pursed his lips and examined the rings, trying to settle on which ones didn't look as hideous as the others did.

"Fine, I'll wear some of these, but _you_ have to do something in return," Merlin's eyes came up to meet Arthur's, a devilish glint to them.

"And what's that?" Arthur sighed.

"_You_ have to wear the _Emrys _necklace." He grinned, dangling the golden piece of jewelry in front of Arthur's face.

"You're not _serious." _

"Well, you _said_ half the castle already knows, so let's just make sure the other half does as well. Unless you'd rather wear the _Merlin_ one and be less subtle about it?" he asked, voice and eyes much too innocent to be anything but a farce.

"I _really_ hate you sometimes." Arthur hissed, snatching the _Emrys _necklace from his hand and slipping it over his neck, thrusting the white box further into Merlin's grasp.

"Ah, I love you, too, _sire_." He replied teasingly, shaking his head in silent laughter as he put the lid back on the box and threw it down with his clothes for the evening.

Arthur rolled his eyes, leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips before turning around and stalking out of the room.

"I expect you to be ready for the feast on time, or so help me I will _make you_ get a manservant of your own for this sort of thing. And _you_ will not have the luxury of falling in love with him, so it will just be _awful_." He promised just before the door swung shut behind him, leaving Merlin to chuckle and look over his attire for the evening once more.

And Merlin was _right_, the view from the table sitting next to Arthur _was_ quite different indeed. Everyone else still looked gaudy in their over-excessive gold and silver layers of jewelry, but Arthur, at least, with simply his crown, the _Emrys_ necklace, and a few silver rings, looked quite wonderful and in place among everyone else.

And for the first time since his promotion, Merlin truly felt like he belonged at the table, at Arthur's side, felt like he _deserved_ it when Arthur slipped his hand into Merlin's under the table as the meal was ending—even if the clothing _was_ just as uncomfortable as always.

**Fin.**


	21. Caroling

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Merlin_ or Christmas carols or anything else mentioned here that one might be able to claim ownership of. Just saying.

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_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 20: **_  
Caroling_

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**Fic:**

"Merlin, this is stupid and I'm not going." Arthur insisted, crossing his arms with the stubbornness of his declaration. Of all the demeaning, childish, idiotic ideas he had _ever_ heard in his lifetime, he was pretty sure_ this one_ took the cake.

"It's _not_ stupid and you _are_ going." Merlin told him, shaking his head as pulled on some atrocious Christmas jumper Gwen had given him the week before.

Arthur scoffed at the mere _notion_ that Merlin thought for even _half_ a second that he was going to do this. No, he had done a lot at Merlin's request over the years, but this—_this_ was where he would draw the line.

"It is and I am not." He insisted once more.

Merlin sighed, threw Arthur's Christmas jumper at him and stood with his hands on his hips when he just let it fall to the floor, not bothering to catch it or even pretend to. No. He would not do it. Not now, not ever.

"Come on, Arthur, Gwen asked us to do this for her."

"And I said no."

"And _I _said yes. So we're going."

"I don't want to."

"Sometimes, Arthur, we have to do things we don't want to to keep those we care about _happy_."

"It's Lance's job to keep Gwen happy, not mine."

"But it _is_ your job to keep _me_ happy."

"And it's _yours_ to keep _me_ happy."

"I made you plenty happy last night, if I recall correctly."

"Now that's not—"

"_Arthur_." Merlin interrupted pointedly, walking over and picking up the dark red sweater from the ground. He thrust it into Arthur's arms without warning, glaring at him until he held it himself. "It is _not_ the end of the world. Put on the sweater, go with me to meet up with everyone else, spend a few hours doing this, and then we can come home and you can forget all about it, all right? I'll even make some of those cookies you love so much when we get back—_if_ you're good." He promised, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Arthur, however, would not be swayed with mere promises of chocolaty goodness. Not for something as, as demeaning as _this_. There was just no way.

"No. Not happening."

"Stop being such a stubborn child about this. Honestly, Arthur," Merlin rolled his eyes. "I've seen five-year-olds sway easier than this."

"Five-year-olds can be _bought_," Arthur snapped. "Five-year olds have no dignity, no self-respect. They have absolutely _no problem_ going up to—to _random_ people and _singing_ to them. Its—it's childish and demeaning and I will have no part of it." He stated with the tone of one not to be argued with.

Merlin, of course, never did let him get his way that easily. _Especially_ not when he thought Arthur was just being a stubborn prat about everything—though he was plenty justified in his objections to this request. Merlin _had_ to see that.

"It's traditional," Merlin told him gently, and Arthur was almost sure he was edging towards _treating_ him like a five-year old now. If he weren't so upset, so adamant about not going _caroling_, he might have taken offense to his tone, his approach to the situation. But, one battle at a time. "And anyway, everyone else is doing it," he shrugged.

"Are you trying to use _peer pressure_ to get me to do this?" Arthur laughed, amused against his anger and indignation. "You do know we've had it drilled into our heads our whole lives not to do something just because everyone else is doing it? Don't you remember all those god-awful assemblies we had to sit through? Were you one of those kids who would have jumped off the bridge if everyone else was doing it?" he asked, tone too serious.

"No, shut up," Merlin shoved his arm playfully. "I was the kid trying to stop them from jumping off the bridge in the first place. And if they did it anyway… At least I tried," he shrugged with amusement.

"So how did you go from trying to talk them down to shoving them off?"

"Are you _really_ equating Christmas caroling to suicide and attempted murder?"

"It's an honest question!"

"I fell in love with _you_, you prat. Your whole… dollophead thing must have rubbed off on me."

"I've _never_ tried to convince someone to—"

"_Arthur,"_ Merlin cut him off, grinned too wide, threw his hands up in the air in finality and then placed them on his hips._ "Put. The. Sweater. On._ We leave in ten minutes. Gwaine, Percy, Leon, Elyan, Gwen, Lance, and Morgana are going to be waiting for us up the corner. I will not argue with you about this anymore." Merlin told him, all the joking gone from his tone.

Arthur let out a groan of resignation, put the stupid jumper on with a huff and glared at Merlin for the next ten minutes, grumbling under his breath the whole time they were slipping their jackets and scarves on and then walking out the door and up the street. Merlin could make him go, could make him _sing_, but he could not make him enjoy it.

"At least tell me we're going to be singing _good_ songs." Arthur said at last, his tone still sharp with his reluctance. He still didn't want to do this, but he at least needed Merlin to know he wasn't so mad he wouldn't _talk_ to him.

"They're Christmas Carols, Arthur. They're all _good_." Merlin rolled his eyes.

"You better make this up to me." He said then, just to have something else to say to him.

"Of course. As soon as we get home." He promised, leaning over to peck him on the cheek as they neared their friends.

Arthur didn't say another word of his reluctance, of his displeasure at being there once their friends welcomed them and Gwen passed them their song booklets, walking them through what they would be singing and how long they would be out there and other details she had thought through that Arthur didn't quite understand _how_ she put so much thought into.

He kept his mouth shut, he walked with them, going to houses with lights on, ringing doorbells and singing _Silent Night_ and _Mary, Did You Know?, _and _Do You Hear What I Hear?, _and _Joy To The World_, and every other carol he was directed to in his booklet until their voices were hoarse and his nose was frozen and everyone was laughing and smiling and commenting on what a great job they'd all done.

Most of the houses they went to had people who listened to them through the whole song they sang to them, smiling and nodded and sometimes even singing along with them. A few of their stops had people generous enough to offer them eggnog and warm apple cider and they all accepted graciously, loosening them all up even more for the next house they would stop at.

And Arthur actually found himself.. Well, enjoying it. He didn't want to. He wanted to be miserable and brooding, and have to remind Merlin when they got home that he _so owed him_ for what he'd had to go through that night...

But he enjoyed it too much. He enjoyed being with their friends and making other people smile, he enjoyed the way Merlin glanced at him sideways, the way he looped his arm through his after every house, the way he kissed him silly at the most random of moments. He _enjoyed_ giving in to the damn peer pressure that he'd always thought to ignore.

When they finally got home, Merlin shrugged out of his coat as Arthur closed and locked the door, chattering about how the cookies would have to wait until morning because he was _dead tired_—

Arthur had him pinned to the wall by the coat rack before he could finish the sentence, kissing him hard and sweet and tender, nipping at his bottom lip when he arched his head back. Arthur could see the question in Merlin's half-lidded eyes, probably wondering what had brought this about. Just a few hours ago, he'd been pissed, acting like a stubborn child who was being forced to do something particularly grown-up, but now, _now_ he was grinning and kissing Merlin's neck, chuckling against his warming skin.

"I just…" he mumbled. "Thank you for pushing me off the bridge tonight, _Mer_lin. It was… _fun_." He admitted, kissing the superior, 'I told you so' look off his face before it could form itself into a coherent sentence.

**Fin.**

* * *

**Admittedly, I'm not quite sure if they have those "Say no to peer pressure" assemblies in, like, London, and shit, but I would assume so? I mean, I assume all parents want their kids to say no to drugs and jumping off bridges and underage drinking and all that other after-school-special shit. Probably. **

**_Personally_, I'd just kinda stand back and watch the other kids jump off the bridge, shaking my head and mumbling under my breath about what idiots they are, but I've spent _way_ too much time on tumblr and that kinda messes with your brain a bit.**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	22. Yuletide

**I'm afraid I've cheated a bit and combined two different prompts in this chapter. Not the first time I've done it here, but it _is_ the first I've thought to mention it.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Merlin_. So_ I'm_ not the one responsible for the tears you've shed since joining this fandom. Because let's be real: there's been a lot of tears up in here, especially as we near the anniversary of Arthur's death—but let's not talk about that right now.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 21:  
**_Yuletide (Giving)_

* * *

**Fic:**

The first day of Yuletide was met with a grand feast, and gift-giving among loved ones and royalty—the Yule log and the traditions associated with what came after it was burned, Uther had decided, was too close to sorcery to be upheld anymore—that kept most of the kingdom up into the late hours of the night. And since it happened to be the longest night of the year, it was met with even more cheer and drink, as the longest night most often meant one of the coldest night to some of them.

When the feast finally came to an end and Arthur managed to pull himself away from the knights and trudged up into his room with Merlin close at his side—remarkably, he hadn't gotten quite as drunk as he usually did, largely thanks to Merlin not actually filling his cup all the way up as he would usually have him do—he was in surprisingly good spirits. Holidays always did seem to do that to him, Merlin grinned as he closed the door behind him and quickly moved about, readying everything for his prince to climb into bed.

When he had the sheets pulled back and went to help Arthur into his nightclothes, he turned and found him still standing there in his feast clothing, the only thing setting out against his pressed and prat-like princely attire and revealing the Arthur Merlin knew too well being his bright eyes and the look on his face that told Merlin he was thinking much too much about something or another.

"Ready for bed, sire?" Merlin asked cheekily, gesturing at the cape he was still wearing. His high spirits on holidays usually meant a bit of back-and-forth before the prince actually climbed into bed, but this night, something seemed _off_.

"Yule used to be hard, you know," Arthur sighed instead of retorting.

Merlin frowned, watching as he walked over to one of his windows. He had been in such good spirits just a moment ago, and he wasn't quite drunk enough to have such mind-alerting mood-swings, Merlin knew well enough. So what was it that had upset him so much?

"Growing up, I mean…" he sighed again, watching as snow lightly fell from the sky, the clouds beautiful and intoxicating on their own. Merlin came up behind him, careful to keep his distance but be near enough that Arthur knew he was there. It was always a delicate balance when it came to Arthur and their relationship. Always so hard to read the situation and what he wanted, needed from him.

"Sire?" Merlin asked, unsure of what else to say when Arthur fell silent, watching the snow slowly blanket the courtyard and everything else in sight.

"My father used to talk about my mother a lot around this time—it was her favorite time of year. She loved all the—the snow and decorations and the feasts and the people and the log—God, he used to talk about how she loved the burning of the Yule Log." He shook his head, still watching the snow.

Merlin nodded thoughtfully, allowing his thoughts to click into place before, "So that's why he doesn't allow the Yule log to be burned anymore, not because it's too close to witchcraft, but because if reminds him too much of her."

"Yes." Arthur nodded.

Merlin walked slowly to his side, looked at him sideways, at his eyes, glazed over with thought and the ghost of a past he never had. He had never thought about it before—about Arthur missing a mother he never knew, about Uther talking about her, about Arthur getting to know her only through stories and memories offered to him by a father who rarely touched upon such emotional subjects. Merlin's own mother didn't talk about his father any more often than Uther talked about Ygraine, he was sure, so he supposed he understood the longing, the pain Arthur must have felt…

He had just never thought of it before.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, because he had nothing else _to_ say.

Arthur shook his head, let his eyes come to Merlin at last. "I shouldn't… It's nothing, nevermind." He swallowed in the way that Merlin knew meant he was swallowing his troubles, trying to brush away his thoughts and problems, trying not to let himself become upset over the simplest of things.

"It's no problem, really. Longer you talk the less work I have to do," he joked. Arthur lit up with half a smile, clapped his hand on Merlin's shoulder as he brushed past him.

"If that's your excuse then maybe I should stop talking altogether—you might actually get something done around here." He walked to his wardrobe, opened it up and rummaged around in it for a moment as Merlin stood and watched him, arms crossed against his chest.

"Wouldn't count on it; you never do know when to shut your mouth."

"And _you_ do?"

"Fair point." Arthur looked back over his shoulder and half-laughed with him, rolled his eyes before he turned his attention back to whatever it was he was doing. Eyebrow raised with curiosity, Merlin walked towards him, angling his head as he tried to see what he was doing.

"Lost something?" he asked.

"Mmm, nope, just looking for—aha." Arthur yanked something out of his wardrobe, his hands quick as he tugged whatever it was out and shut the door quickly, a shy sort of smile on his face as he turned around to face Merlin.

"What's that?" Merlin asked, itching with curiosity.

"It's the first day of Yuletide, _Mer_lin." Arthur rolled his eyes, as though that explained _everything_.

"And?" Merlin asked, gesturing widely in slight frustration for him to elaborate. Arthur had been so vulnerable just a moment ago, how was he now back to his usual, irritating self? And so quickly at that.

"_And_, on the first day of Yuletide one is expected to give gifts to people important to you, so… happy Yule, you clotpole." He held the package out to him, gave a sort of half shake of his head. Merlin swallowed, reached out to take it and looked back to Arthur's eyes. He wasn't used to… Arthur wasn't exactly one to… Well, _Princes _did not give Yuletide gifts to _servants_. But Arthur was different, wasn't he? He always was. Merlin should have expected as much.

"I haven't got anything for you," he admitted, feeling guilty as he turned the gift over in his hands. Arthur had gone to the trouble to open up to him, to get him something, and he had nothing to give in return. Maybe he was the clotpole.

"It doesn't matter, Merlin. I didn't expect you to. Probably would have died of shock if you had, to be honest," he grinned. Merlin bit his lip, chewed over the situation for a moment. He had nothing—_nothing_—to give Arthur in return for the gift he held in his hand, but maybe he could—

Smiling slyly, Merlin took a step forward. Arthur was either going to sack him for what he was about to do or thank him, but either way…

He brought his free hand up, cupped Arthur's face, leaned forward and brushed his lips against his softly enough to get his intention across, quick enough to give him ample time after to react appropriately.

"Happy Yule, Arthur. Not dead, are you?" he asked cheekily. Arthur let out an odd sound, something between a groan and a chuckle as he shook his head, grabbed Merlin and kissed him again, lingering and sweet this time, with no hesitation, no fear.

"Happy Yule, Merlin." He sighed, pulling away slowly.

Unable to resist, Merlin kissed him again, his hands making quick work of his clothing. It _was_ the season of giving, after all.

**Fin.**

* * *

**It's a bit of angst, I know; I'm sorry. I fucked up and I'm sorry. This is supposed to be a place of fluff and I just... I fucked up. Hopefully I managed to make up for it, though.**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	23. Hot Chocolate

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Merlin _and my head hurts too much right now for me to come up with a wittier way to say it.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 22: **_  
Hot Chocolate_

* * *

**Fic:**

All Merlin wanted to do when he came home after a long day of running errands and doing the shopping that Arthur would not do, was cuddle up on the couch with the prat himself and a nice cup of tea. That was how he ended most days, and it was nice, relaxing, it allowed him a moment to be at peace with everything that was going on. He would do without Arthur's company if he had to—if he was out running last minute errands or running late at work or being a prat somewhere else at the moment—but the tea? That was a must-have. Without his tea to help ease and relax him after a long day, Merlin was on edge, tense, and easy to irritate.

And Arthur knew that oh-too well.

"Arthur! Where's my tea?" Merlin yelled from the kitchen, searching through the cupboards and pantry as the kettle sat steaming nearby. Just that morning there had been _plenty!_ But now it was all mysteriously _gone_ and Merlin was not amused. Of all the stupid things Arthur could have done, why did he have to mess with his _tea?_

"Arthur Pendragon! If you do not tell me what you did with my tea, I swear to God—"

"Sorry, love, did you say something?" Arthur asked cheekily, grinning as he walked into the kitchen casually.

Merlin scowled at him, eyes narrowed. "Where. Is. My. _Tea?" _He seethed, turning to face Arthur with his hands on his hips. Arthur nodded in an exaggerated manner, pursing his lips in playful thought.

"Your tea?" He repeated.

"Yes, my _tea_. What have you done with it?"

"Now what makes you think _I've _done something with it?"

"Because I sure as hell didn't move it and we're the only two who live here, so _you_ tell _me_ what makes me think you've done something with it."

Arthur just shrugged in response, then made a big show of looking through all the places Merlin had just looked, opening all the cupboards and inspecting the pantry as though he expected to find it, as though Merlin had over-looked it. Merlin was growing irritated at his charade. No. He was not allowed to mess with Merlin's _tea_. That line was not to be crossed and he bloody well knew it.

"Well, if you can't have your tea, how about we just have some hot chocolate, then?" Arthur suggested, pulling some things out down from an already open cabinet.

Merlin made a face as Arthur pulled out two cups and went about making them each a cup of hot chocolate, moving about the kitchen almost rhythmically as he scooped the powder into the cups, added the vanilla and whatever else he had out before he finally poured the boiling water into them, grabbed a couple of spoons and stirred. He went over to another cabinet and pulled out a bag of marshmallows, then turned back to Merlin.

"Come on, then," he gestured at the cups on the counter and looked at Merlin expectantly.

"I don't like hot chocolate, Arthur," Merlin sighed. But of course, he _knew_ that.

"But you'll _love_ this hot chocolate." Arthur assured him, nudging his cup forward.

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I've added a special ingredient." He told him, his eyes twinkling almost childishly.

"I swear, if you say it's _love_, Arthur, I will call everyone you know and tell them what a _sap_ you are,"

"It is _not_ love. You don't deserve _love_ in yours. Not with that attitude."

"Arthur..."

"Merlin, just... try it, all right?" he told him, pushing the cup forward even more.

Merlin let out an exasperated sigh, frowning deeply as his hands curled around the cup as he brought it up to his mouth, inhaling the deceptively sweet smell and steam that almost burned his nose. He looked at Arthur's grinning face over the top of the cup, rolled his eyes again and took a sip, relishing in the warm and surprisingly delicious taste.

Taken aback, he took another sip before he lowered it, gave Arthur a curious and bewildered look. Merlin did not like hot chocolate. It tasted disgusting and powdery and it burned his tongue and he hated it, but this... No way this was hot chocolate. It was too _good_.

"Good, right?" Arthur grinned, opening the bag of marshmallows in his hands and dropping a few into his own cup.

"I... _yes_. How did you—"

"I told you: special. Ingredient." He interrupted, holding the bag of marshmallows out to Merlin. He rolled his eyes, took a few out of the bag and dropped them into his own cup, took another sip that swam in his mouth, too damn good for Arthur to have made it. And yet he did. Merlin had _watched _him.

"Was it love?" Merlin asked, curious now.

"No, I _told_ you: you don't deserve love in yours. There's plenty in mine, though, if you want some," Arthur held out his glass towards Merlin who eyed it suspiciously, unsure what to do. With nothing to lose, however, he sat his own cup down, took Arthur's and took a sip, unable to believe, as the warm liquid danced over his taste-buds in the most lovely sort of way, that it tasted even better than his own did.

As he lowered the cup, he shot Arthur another unbelieving look. What the hell had he put in it?

Arthur grinned, breaking out in a laugh as Merlin glared at him, took another sip.

"Arthur—"

"Plenty of love to go around, _love_," he said teasingly, taking the cup from Merlin as he closed the distance between them, setting it down on the counter just before he wrapped his arms around him, pulled him close for a kiss that was warmer and sweeter than the slowly cooling drink sitting just out of reach was as Merlin's own hands came up and knotted themselves through Arthur's hair.

Maybe hot chocolate wasn't as bad as Merlin thought it to be.

**Fin.**


	24. Lights

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Merlin. How awesome would it be to own your very own wizard, though? Like, you could get in to a _lot_ of trouble that way and it would be so much _fun..._

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 23: **_  
Lights_

* * *

**Fic:**

"_Mer_lin, what exactly are we doing out here?" Arthur asked for what felt like the thousandth time, his boots dragging through the deep snow as he followed Merlin through the woods. It was late and snowing and he wasn't one for complaining, but he was _tired_ as all hell. And yet Merlin had told him that, instead of changing into his nightclothes and climbing into his warm, cozy bed, he was going to need to put a layer or two on and follow him. Where they were going, what they were doing, why they were outside in the freezing cold instead of in the nice, warm castle, he wouldn't tell him. And it was beginning to get on his icy cold _nerves._

"You'll see." Merlin told him, grinning back over his shoulder for a moment before turning his attention back to the path—not a _real_ beaten down path, of course. No, that would have been _too easy_. Merlin was leading him through fresh snow, wet and deep and _cold_—they were walking, leading him through the trees as though he actually knew what he was doing and where they were going, even though Arthur was pretty sure he hadn't the slightest clue about either of those things.

He was probably just getting back at him for shoving snow down the back of his shirt during training earlier that afternoon. Arthur wouldn't put it past him to drag him through the forest for a good few hours, offering up a goofy smile and sheepish shrug as explanation when he finally grew bored or cold. But he followed him nonetheless, because there was always the possibility that Merlin actually _did_ have something he needed Arthur to see, even if it was only a _small_ possibility.

"Are we almost there at least?"

"Yes, almost. Now stop your whining."

"I'm sorry, who's the prince and who's the servant again?"

"Right," Merlin twisted around, his face just as mocking as his tone. "Stop your whining, _sire." _

Arthur rolled his eyes as Merlin chuckled lightly at his face, turned back around just in time to avoid walking into a stray branch that Arthur wasn't going to warn him about anyway.

If anyone else had said that to him, if anyone else had pulled him away from the castle for a late-night stroll through the snow for a reason they wouldn't divulge to him, he might have had them thrown in the stocks for a couple of days, but since it was Merlin...

He would only _consider_ it.

"Can I at least have a _clue?"_

"Uhm..." he stopped where he was, hands on his hips as he considered the virgin snow in front of them much too seriously, if the set of his shoulders was anything to go by, then let out a wispy breath and continued walking. "Were you ever told those stories as a child?" he asked vaguely.

"Which ones?" Arthur snorted in response.

He had been told _many_ stories a as child; he had had many nursemaids who often found it quite difficult to keep him in one place for too long before he was able to officially begin his training, so they had used books and stories, legends and tales of far-off lands and the history of the very kingdom he would one day rule, to keep him still and interested for any extended period of time. So he was told _a lot_ of stories as a child and Merlin was going to have to be more specific.

"The ones about the lights?" he asked, making a gesture with his hands that was obstructed from Arthur's view. "How during any sort of snowfall during the winter months there are these... _lights_ that appear in the forest around Camelot somewhere?"

"The ones that are told to be spirits of deceased children playing in the snow they never got to enjoy in life, you mean?" Arthur asked, recalling several of those different tales from his childhood.

There were many different variations, many different explanations for a phenomena that few saw anyway, of course—that the druids did it to honor some God or another, that it was just a trick of the eye due to the heavy snow, pink sky, and bright moon, that they were vengeful spirits that lured wayward travelers lost in the woods to their doom, cheerful things of the such—but the most common sort of tale was that the glowing balls of light were the spirits of young children who had been too sick, or otherwise unable to enjoy the snow when they were alive, and now spent all of time enjoying the falling snow, playing in it in their own way, lighting up the sky for other kind souls who happened upon the scene, and just having the fun they were not allowed in life.

Arthur had never seen the lights himself, and once his father found out of the tales he was being told, the particular nursemaid telling them had been sacked, banished from the city for filling Arthur's head with such tales, but he had thought of them often enough as he grew up. Even if he would never admit it.

Wait. Was that what Merlin was doing? Taking him to where the lights, spirits, whatever they were, were rumored to be on nights such as this? How would he even know where to find such a thing when Arthur himself, who had grown up going on patrols and hunts through the very woods they were rumored to be in, had never happened upon such a thing?

"Yeah, those." He nodded, stopping in his tracks to look around once more before continuing forward.

"Of course, yeah; everybody heard those," he rolled his eyes, trying to come off casual.

He had _dreamed_ of seeing those lights in person. He knew how his father felt about sorcery and these rumored _lights_, but he had always heard they were beautiful, and filled whoever viewed them with a sense of peace and acceptance, and undying love, if happened upon with the right person.

Not that he was a girl's petticoat like Merlin and might have actually _enjoyed_ such a thing, he just... thought it might be interesting to see for himself what he had otherwise only heard people half-drunkingly describe to him and had only seen bleak illustrations of in books.

"Well, I was talking to Gaius about those stories the other night, and, well, he told me where I might find those lights if I go there on a night like this. I figured you'd like to come with, see it in person." he shrugged, his voice suggesting a grin on his face.

"And why would you think that?"

"I dunno, seems like something the future king might want to know. You're going to be ruling this land one day, might be useful to know where things like this happen so you don't make anybody angry. Last thing you need is a vengeful spirit on your royal arse because you sent a patrol through their playground, after all." He chuckled, taking a sudden sharp turn and stopping once more, words lost as Arthur turned his head, taking in a clearing in the middle of the words that Arthur had never stumbled upon before.

It was empty, aside form the virgin snow, the pink sky above them, and the large snowflakes that were rushing down, heavy and cold on Arthur's exposed skin. With a frown, he walked forward, catching Merlin's shoulder under his hand. Maybe he had been wrong to get his hopes up like that, maybe Merlin _was_ just getting back at him for earlier...

"You hear that?" Merlin asked suddenly, casting a look over his shoulder, Arthur's hand flying to the hilt of his sword as he swung around, searching the forest as intently as he could against the darkness they had left behind them. If he hadn't been so worried about having to protect himself and Merlin from whatever or whoever was out there, he might have wondered how Merlin had managed to get them there without getting them lost or killed already.

Frowning once more as he was met with silence and darkness, he turned back around, meaning to ask if Merlin had hit up the tavern before they left, but his breath caught in his throat before he could manage the question, eyes wide as he caught sight of what had been promised to him.

There, just in the middle of the clearing, were several glowing balls of light, all different colors, all magnificent and breath-taking, moving about almost playfully like the children they were rumored to be. They dipped low to the snow and back to the sky, around the clearing and near the trees, one coming _so close_ to Arthur and Merlin that he held his breath, wondering what it might do before it was suddenly heading in the other direction, a game of sorts seeming to break out between them.

"Wow." He said at last, taking a fraction of a step forward before Merlin caught him, keeping him firmly at his side without words as they observed the lights for a few moments longer in silence.

"Yeah." Merlin nodded, his fingers intertwining with Arthur's before he turned, somehow ripping his gaze from the lights, and kissed Arthur gently, the lights reflecting in Merlin's eyes the last thing he saw for a while as he lost himself, feeling _complete_ and a sense of peace he had never quite felt before wash over him as Merlin kissed him, warming his body, his very _being_, with his cool lips and careful hands.

Arthur was awe-struck, without many words for the rest of the night, the beauty and the grace of the spirits not lost on him. How his father could ever accuse such a bittersweet, heartbreaking, and beautiful sight of being evil and the result of sorcery and magic was beyond him. He had always dreamed of seeing those damned lights—for a reason that escaped him and all logic, really—and finally seeing them with Merlin, sharing their first kiss in front of them... Made it all the more special.

And the damn fool knew it.

_Of course_ he did.

Arthur didn't know _how,_ but from the look Merlin gave him when they were back in Arthur's chambers and he was preparing him for bed, his hands more lingering than usual as he pressed soft kisses to his lips between articles of clothing, Arthur knew he _knew_. He _knew_ that Arthur had always been curious, always had a longing to see them in person, knew what it meant to him to finally see them with _Merlin_, of all people...

Sometimes, it seemed, Merlin knew too much about him, but... It might not have been the worst thing in the world.

**Fin.**

* * *

**Fun fact: I have _always_ wanted to use the term "virgin snow" in a fic. Like, I don't know _why_, but it's been a goal of mine since about forever, and now I have done it. Twice. Let this be a lesson for you, kids: you can do anything you want to. Wait, no, nothing illegal or whatever, but... I'm not good at being inspirational, okay? Just... let me have my moment here.**

**Also, I love _Tangled_, but I assure you that if you thought of that movie at any point during this fic, that was a completely unintentional, yet not undesirable, effect. 'Cause, like, Arthur would be Rapunzel and Merlin/Emrys and Flynn Rider/Eugene Firtzherbert and just... I love it, to be honest. **

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	25. Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Merlin_. Apparently, not even Santa can make that wish come true. At the very least, I expect Colin Morgan under my tree tonight—though I doubt he can manage that, either.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 24: **_  
Baby, It's Cold Outside_

* * *

**Fic:**

"_Mer_lin," Arthur's eyes flicked between him and the bed, _his_ bed, big and warm, and ready for Arthur to crawl into and fall asleep.

They had a system worked out. They would do whatever they needed, whatever they wanted to do, but Merlin would always leave for his own chambers after they were done. It would not do for them to be caught together like that, not with his father so insistent on him marrying some visiting princess or another to secure a queen, and eventually an heir, for the kingdom.

No matter how badly Arthur wanted Merlin to stay.

"I know, Arthur," Merlin nodded, turning away to pick up his shirt and neckerchief from the ground where they laid forgotten.

Arthur tried not to hear the pain in his voice, tried not to notice the defeated set of his shoulders as he slipped his shirt on, tugged his pants on in a hurry. He wanted Merlin to stay, wanted that time with him afterwards, but, even if his father _wasn't_ an issue, he didn't know how to _say it,_ didn't know how to ask for what he wanted more than anything else.

Merlin was dressed all too quickly, bending over to secure his boots in place, scarf in hand instead of around his neck. He would leave any moment now, leave Arthur tucked in his bed that felt cold and empty without Merlin in it next to him.

Wanting nothing more than for Merlin to just _stay_ that night, Arthur walked over, still half-naked himself, pressed a kiss to the back of Merlin's exposed neck. Merlin froze, rigid under Arthur's lips until he spun around, Arthur's lips landing just at the corner of his mouth. He brought his hands up, one on his chest, one on the back of his neck, his gaze questioning.

"I have to _go_, Arthur, remember?" he asked, uncertainty in his voice despite his words.

Arthur just shook his head, kissed him again.

"But I thought—"

"It's... _freezing_ out, Merlin," Arthur interrupted, a good enough excuse falling off his lips before his thoughts could catch up. "You'll catch your death if you walk these halls _now. _And I've seen your room, it's not exactly what one would call _warm._ I can't very well have my servant lying around when there's _work_ to do, now can I? You'll stay here tonight. That's all there is to it." he told him, his tone firm as he captured Merlin's lips once more.

Merlin shook his head when he pulled back, an unbelieving grin on his face as he said, "Whatever you say, _sire_."

Arthur just rolled his eyes in response, grabbed Merlin's hand and pulled him towards the bed, sure that they would both keep plenty warm that night.

**Fin.**


	26. Christmas Dinner

**Merry Christmas, you guys. And, if you don't celebrate _Christmas_, merry whatever you _do_ celebrate. I hope you all had a lovely day!**

**And yes, I know it's not Christmas anymore, and I wanted to upload this yesterday, but ff wouldn't let me on the doc manager, so it's a touch late and I apologize for that. **

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Merlin_. And, I will have you know, Santa Claus _did_ _not_ leave Colin Morgan under my tree this year, so I don't own him either. Maybe next year...

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 25: **_  
Christmas Dinner_

* * *

**Fic:**

The Christmas tree was beautiful, the eggnog was cold, hot chocolate hot, the food looking delicious and settled on Gwen and Lancelot's ridiculously large table, plates and silverware in front of everyone, Christmas music playing softly in the background, mistletoe and other various decorations strung in almost every inch of the room—it was the perfect Christmas setting, as far as everyone was concerned.

Gwaine, Percival, Gwen, Lancelot, Leon, Elyan, Morgana, and Arthur were all seated around the table, making small-talk and sneaking sly glances at the slowly cooling food every few moments, everyone trying to hide their annoyance at the empty seat next to Arthur, Merlin's absence the only thing putting off the delicious looking meal.

"Can't we just _eat _already?" Gwaine whined, just across the table from Arthur.

"Not until Merlin gets here," Gwen told him tiredly.

Arthur shook his head, sympathizing with her. Everyone had been there all day, getting in the way, getting on her nerves, and hardly lifting a finger to help prepare the food unless she or Morgana threatened them into it. And now—_now—_they couldn't even enjoy the meal she had spent so long preparing, because Merlin had been out all day, doing God knows what, and still wasn't there. Sure, Merlin was known to lose track of time occasionally, but he would never be late to something like Christmas dinner with their friends.

Arthur would be lying if he said he wasn't beginning to _worry_.

"Where the bloody hell is your boyfriend, _mate?" _Gwaine demanded, wide, hungry eyes on Arthur accusingly.

Arthur raised his hands in surrender. Standing between Gwaine and his food was almost as bad as standing between him and his alcohol. Not done unless you were feeling particularly masochistic at the time.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "He left the house this morning in a rush and only said he'd be here in time for dinner. I've tried texting, calling, I think he's turned his phone _off_." He said, took a drink of his eggnog to wash down the concern. It wasn't like Merlin to turn his phone off, either. Wasn't like him to let Arthur wonder and worry about his whereabouts like that.

"Don't worry, Arthur," Morgana cooed, petting his arm as though he were a child who had lost their favorite toy. "I'm sure he's just been caught up. He'll be here soon enough." She assured him, a special sort of twinkle in her eye that made Arthur wonder if she knew more than she was letting on.

He opened his mouth, about to call her on it, but before he could, the front door was heard clicking open, all eyes darting to the doorway as Merlin entered, kicking off his snow-covered boots and shrugging out of his coat and scarf, apologizing profusely for his tardiness as he laid the spare key to the front door down on the coffee table and then took his seat next to Arthur.

Arthur gave him a look, his relief melting into slight irritation as Merlin pecked him hello, offering up a sheepish sort of grin and a shrug to the question in Arthur's eyes.

"Where've you been all day?" he asked.

"Uhm, just... Out and about. Had some errands to run, gifts to pick up," he shrugged again, averting his eyes to Gwen and Lancelot as a silent change of subject.

Still annoyed, Arthur let the subject drop in lieu of Gwen's spread: turkey _and_ ham, because Leon and Morgana didn't like turkey, stuffing, dressing, potatoes, cranberry sauce, and a plethora of other holiday foods. They were allowed to tuck in then, much to Gwaine's obvious relief, after Gwen said some words about family and friends and holiday togetherness and the spirit of the holiday and all that fun stuff.

The meal was eaten in good spirits, everyone laughing and joking, drinking, eating, enjoying the company of their closest friends and the delicious food they were provided.

Soon after, it was time for desert, with the food cleared off the table by Lance and Leon and the pies and cake and coffee brought out by Gwen and a suddenly nervous looking Merlin.

Actually, now that Arthur thought about it, Merlin had been off through-out the whole meal. Bumping his elbow into Arthur's, dropping food, spilling his drinks down his chin, his eyes catching on Arthur's and then looking away with a blush. He was always a little awkward due to his stupidly adorable long legs, and over-all gangly stature, but tonight... Well, he was acting more like a love-sick teenager than a grown-man in a committed relationship, if anything.

When Gwen picked up the knife, cut into the cake, Merlin was slicing into one of the pies, grinning about something or another that Percival was saying as he looked around absent-mindedly. When his eyes caught on Arthur's again, he, once again, looked away, grinning and blushing, his godforsaken cheek bones looking marvelous against the color. What the hell was going on with him tonight, damnit?

"What is it, _Mer_lin?" Arthur demanded at last, his aggravation getting the better of him. Merlin snapped his attention to him, narrowly avoiding slicing his finger open as he locked eyes with Arthur, determination written on his face now instead of whatever the hell was there during the meal.

The conversations all lulled at once, everyone sensing something was about to happen before Arthur himself even did.

Merlin placed the knife on the table next to the pie, walked around the table, hands fumbling for something or another as he stood, grinning shyly down at Arthur.

"What are you _doing_, you dollop—"

"_Arthur." _Merlin interrupted pointedly.

"_Mer_lin."

"Look, just," he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he'd picked up from Arthur himself, he was proud to say. "You know how much I love you, don't you?"

"Yeah, Merlin, of course," he nodded, taking in his bottom lip.

He'd heard this speech before, and there was only one place it was leading to. Merlin was going to break up with him. But why _here_, why _now?_ On Christmas and in front of all their friends? For gods sake, he should at least have done it privately, given Arthur a chance to give him mind-blowing head to help change his mind or grovel or whatever he would need to do to keep Merlin...

"No, I don't think you do," he shook his head, sat on the edge of his chair facing Arthur. "Arthur, I have loved you since—since we were just kids and you were a stupid prat and I could barely tolerate you—yes, I know one statement contradicts the other, you smart-arse—and these past few years have just... Been so amazing," he shook his head, laughing nervously as he blinked back tears.

Arthur gave him a curious look, okay, maybe he _wasn't_ breaking up with him. And if Morgana and Gwen's squeaks of surprise and elation were anything to go by, he might have had an idea of where else Merlin might be going with this...

"I have never been happier than I am when I'm with you, Arthur, and I hope you can say the same?"

"Of course, you idiot." Arthur smiled. And he would not cry, damnit. Pendragons did not cry. No matter what Merlin said next, he would _not_ cry.

"So, will you," he fumbled around in his pocket, pulled out a small, black box, got down on one knee, his smile shy but still there.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat, heart thudding in his chest, anticipating Merlin's next words. He had imagined this scene before, had thought of what it would be like to ask Merlin to be his forever—of course, in his version, it was always _him_ doing the asking, not Merlin, but, well, he couldn't be picky about such fine details at a time like this.

"Make me happy for the rest of my life?" he popped open the box, and thank God it wasn't some girly diamond or something or he might have said no on principle alone. It was a thick silver band, the design simple and elegant all at once.

The girls made some sort of noise, happy and surprised, probably on the verge of crying themselves, while the guys shushed them, wanting to hear what Arthur would say. They all must have known his answer to the question, Arthur was sure, but they probably couldn't be sure how he would say it.

"_God, Mer_lin," Arthur shook his head, blinking away tears, ignoring the sight of all the cameras that were pointed at them by their friends. "I always figured it'd be _me_ asking _you_." He admitted. God, this moment—this _amazing_ moment that he would share with his best friends for the rest of his life—didn't seem to be lasting long enough.

"That's not an answer, you prat." Merlin teased, fear flashing in his eyes for the briefest of moments before Arthur took his face in his hands, wiped away a stray tear, kissed him softly, lovingly, hopefully answering his question.

"I'm going to need a verbal response." Merlin grinned after the kiss.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes. God, _yes_. Before I change my mind, anyway."

Merlin smiled wide, losing the ring for the briefest of moments when Arthur tugged him up, kissing him passionately for a moment before he felt the band slip on to his finger. And then he kissed him again, happier, perhaps, than he had ever been before.

They were quickly swept up in a parade of hugs and congratulations, discussing over their late dessert the road leading to their Christmas dinner engagement.

**Fin.**

* * *

**So I've read a lot of modern day AUs where there's a Merthur proposal scene, and, usually, it's Arthur proposing to Merlin. I mean, it's cute and all, but I _do_ like to see Merlin take charge in their relationship. So. That's where this came from. And I've always wanted to write a Merthur proposal anyway. **

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


	27. Gingerbread

**Disclaimer: **Don't own _Merlin_.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 26: **_  
Gingerbread_

* * *

**Fic:**

As God-awful as some of the things that came out of the royal kitchen were known to be, even Merlin had to agree that the winter goodies whipped up there were amazing. He just couldn't wrap his head around some of the things that got made in that kitchen that everyone was always raving about—he'd eaten the food himself, of course, many times—but the one thing he would have killed Arthur himself for were those damned cookies that the cook made. There was something about them, something sweet and tangy and _delicious_, that everyone _loved_.

But they were only made during the winter months.

And as soon as they were cooking, the whole castle ceased what they were doing and flocked to the scene, everyone hoping to get their hands on at least _one_ of them. After many years of this, it was decided that absolutely _no one_ would be allowed any until a good number of them were finished and ready to go—perhaps they would have a feast just to get them out there for everyone. The cook was delighted at this prospect—a whole _feast_ just because of some cookies she made—but took the whole thing much too seriously. No one, she said, must touch them until the feast. That included the king and Prince Arthur himself, she said, and, even though Uther was the _king_ and loved them just as much as everyone else, he agreed to her terms. Because otherwise, she said, she simply would not make them anymore.

But Arthur wasn't quite as placated with these terms. The feast would not take place until three days after she began making them, and that was three days too long for the impatient prince.

"I want you to sneak into the kitchen and steal some for me," he told Merlin one morning, who was sure he hadn't heard right, because that _cook_ had whacked him with her wooden spoons and a frying pan once for a lot less than stealing from her kitchen. And trying to steal the thing she was most famous for, the thing that kept her her job despite all the other terrible things she made during the rest of the year, was sure to earn him a lot more. He might even lose his head, if she sent word to Uther about it.

"Oh come on, _Mer_lin," Arthur rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as Merlin sat his armor down on his table, having just polished it and come to return it when Arthur told him his most recent ludicrous demand. "It can't be that bad. You'll be in and out before she knows what's happened."

"So you do it, then," he said in response.

If it were that simple, Arthur could just do it his damn self. But it wasn't and they both knew it, which was why Merlin found himself walking away from Arthur's room not a moment later, his head sore, lips swollen, and a threat hanging over his head. If he got some of the cookies and returned to Arthur with them by noon, he would be _rewarded graciously_, he had promised, but if he failed, he would be punished brutally. And if the cook caught him, he was not to mention Arthur's name. Or else.

But how the hell was he going to do it? They had guards stationed outside the kitchen to keep everyone but the servants from entering, and, even once inside the kitchen, the cook's eyes were on you until the second you left again, the cookies closely guarded or hidden away.

Even if he could somehow manage to get the cook out of the kitchen—using his magic, probably. There was no way around it, he would have to use magic to snag some of the damn things—she would have one of her helpers in there watching the cookies. And those girls were snitches and not easily swayed by Merlin's wide grin or deep eyes.

Camelot did not mess around when it came to its wintery delights.

Sure that all was lost and that he would just have to leave the city to escape Arthur's wrath when he did not receive his treats, Merlin bumped into someone, not watching where he was going exactly.

"Something on your mind, Merlin?" Gwaine asked when Merlin looked to see who he'd run into.

"Sorry, Gwaine, just… Arthur's given me this impossible task and he's only given me until noon to do it." He shook his head.

"What kind of task? Maybe I can help."

"I don't think so, Gwaine. This is… a dangerous task. You're probably not up for something like it." He told him. Honestly, Gwaine going with him would only hinder him. It meant he couldn't use his magic. So he was either going to need _all _the knights to make up for the loss of the one thing he had going for him, or he was going to have to do it himself.

"I'm a knight of Camelot, Merlin—of course I'm up for it." Gwaine grinned, his eyes twinkling with the promise of causing some trouble or another.

"Fine," Merlin sighed, because time was of the essence and he couldn't spare a moment to try throwing Gwaine off his trail. "You know those cookies they make in the kitchen this time of year?"

"The ones shaped like little men and taste like ginger, you mean?"

"Yeah—gingerbread men, she likes to call them,"

"What about th—Oh no. He didn't ask you—"

"He did." Merlin nodded, the look of sheer horror on Gwaine's face mirroring his own.

"That coward," Gwaine said at last, shaking his head. Merlin was sure he would be off then, leaving Merlin with good wishes to go meet up with the others for morning training.

"So do you have a plan yet or are we playing it by ear?" he asked instead, much to Merlin's surprise.

"But—"

"Just because the princess doesn't have a problem sending you to your death doesn't mean I don't. So what's the plan?" he repeated.

Within ten minutes they were both just outside the kitchen, watching a few servants come and go, collecting food, dropping off dishes, things of the such. Getting in would be no problem; Merlin would be able to get in if he had some sort of tray or something with him, and Gwaine could get in simply because of his cape and armor. But, once inside, how would they get the cookies and get out with their lives?

"If you can get the cook out of there," Gwaine suggested, ducking behind the corner as the kitchen door swung open once more. "I can distract the girl she'll have watching the goods, then you swoop in with a tray and grab some food for Arthur, hide the cookies under a napkin, and get out before she can come back."

"How am I going to get her out, though? She never leaves the kitchen for something less than an emergency this time of year."

"So create an emergency, then."

"How on earth am I supposed to—"

"I don't know, but you better figure it out soon, eh? Noon's fast approaching."

Merlin groaned in defeat, not so sure now how he felt about Gwaine joining him on his errand. It was good to have him there as both an escort, in case the guards at the door gave him any trouble, and a way to distract the girl the cook would no doubt have watching the cookies, because almost no lady in the kingdom could resist Gwaine and his charms. But he _couldn't use his magic_. How was he supposed to get the cook out of the kitchen without his magic? Well, how was he supposed to get the cook out of the kitchen _with_ his magic?

"Just…" Gwaine said. "Tell her Arthur wants to see her. Talk to her about… the Beltane feast."

"Beltane isn't for _months_."

"Yeah, but you know the Pendragons, they like to _plan_ for their feasts."

Shaking his head in defeat—it wasn't like he had any good ideas anyway—Merlin stood up, walked with Gwaine at his side past the guards at the door, into the kitchen and had the cook scurrying out within moments. A girl no more than a couple years younger than Merlin himself was left to guard the cookies that Merlin could _taste,_ the smell was so pungent from where he stood.

Smiling at the girl, winking at Gwaine, he picked up a tray from nearby and grumbled about having to get Arthur a second breakfast, the stupid prat just wasn't satisfied with what he'd already had that morning. He walked around her, picking up some fruits and biscuits, picking up a deep red napkin from the edge of one of the long tables. He chanced a glance back, saw Gwaine chatting up the poor, giggling, blushing girl. She didn't stand a chance.

He nodded, twisting his neck to get Gwaine's attention, direct him _away_ from what he was trying to steal. If Gwaine saw him, understood his intentions, he did nothing to indicate it, merely steered the girl away, walking off to the side of the kitchen, whispering about needing some privacy for what he wanted to talk to her about.

Once they were out of sight, Merlin slid over, trying to be casual as he lifted the cover off one of the nearby tray of cookies, grabbed a few, barely pausing to inhale the sweet scent that attacked him as he did so, tucked them into the napkin. Thinking better—what if he ran into the cook and she wanted to search the plate or something? She didn't actually trust him, after all—he stuffed the napkin carefully out of sight, not wanting to break them.

Now all he had to do was get back up to Arthur without arousing suspicion and breaking the cookies, and all would be well. And since Arthur wasn't likely to share the spoils with him, he reached for just one more cookie to reward himself, bit off the head as he replaced the top and spun around, chewing victoriously as he grabbed up the tray of food Arthur wouldn't eat anyway.

And of course, standing there, looking horrified and angry, was the cook herself, having just returned when she found out that Prince Arthur hadn't requested her services at all. Gwaine was nowhere to be seen, of course, having forgotten the _point_ of the mission and disappeared with the girl. So Merlin was taken to Uther all alone, accused of stealing the treats from her kitchen and she expected him to be punished to the fullest extent of Uther's powers, because surely this would not stand.

Arthur stood nearby, trying to conceal his laughter as the cook left, leaving Merlin kneeling before Uther. Stupid prat had probably planned the whole damn thing. He knew what Merlin had been doing, he could have kept the cook _busy_ for a few moments. Bastard.

"What could have possibly possessed you to try to steal the cook's gingerbread men?" Uther asked, almost amused as he made a gesture for Merlin to stand. Ah, well, at least he knew he'd be keeping his head, at least.

And then, because Arthur was evil and Merlin hated him just a bit in the moment, he said what Arthur had _told _him not to, at all costs. "Arthur made me do it."

Arthur's jaw dropped in a completely unprincely sort of way as Uther turned to him, still amused. He would pay for that later and they both knew it.

Arthur sighed, having been outed. "Did you at least get me some?" he asked, as though that was all that mattered.

"As a matter of fact," Merlin took the red napkin out, the cookies surprisingly unharmed. "I did."

Arthur made to grab them from him, but Uther intercepted. As his punishment for putting his manservant up to such a trick, Uther was taking the pilfered cookies for himself. He bit into one as he dismissed the boys, a triumphant sort of grin on his face. Arthur clipped Merlin on the back of the head, grumbling about his father and Merlin conspiring against him.

Well, as long as Arthur didn't get the cookies that could have very well cost Merlin his life, he supposed there was no harm done.

**Fin.**


	28. Wrapping Presents

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Merlin_. Sandy Claws couldn't quite seem to deliver on _that_ one this year.

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 27**_  
Wrapping Presents_

* * *

**Fic:**

"God damnit!" Merlin cursed, threw the tape dispenser across the table he was sitting at and crossed his arms in a huff.

On the table just in front of him was a mess of a present, ripped wrapping paper with stupid snowflakes and smiling snowmen on it, tape holding bits of it down on the gift he was wrapping for his mother. There was a pile of gifts still waiting to be wrapped near him, a few more rolls of wrapping paper, name tags and ribbons to be put on, more tape to be used.

Not that any of it was going to do _him_ any good if he couldn't even get the damn paper on there correctly.

Merlin was good at _buying_ the presents, at thinking carefully and picking out just the right thing for just the right person, what he was _not_ good at was wrapping the damn things so they seemed presentable enough to actually give to them.

When he'd lived at home, his mother had always done it, and once he moved out and was on his own he had always had a friend—Gwen, Will, Freya, Lance, hell, even _Gwaine_ was better at wrapping than he was—who would offer to do it for him.

Usually, though, in recent years, he would wait for Arthur to get home so he could do it for him or call Gwen over to help him, but he was in his late twenties, damnit, and he was determined to finally wrap his gifts himself.

However, the wrapping paper that wouldn't fold correctly, the tape that was sticking everywhere _but_ the place it needed to, his long fingers rebelling against what he wanted them to do, all seemed to disagree with his plan. Because he had been trying for _at least_ a half-hour to wrap the damn thing correctly and the pile of ripped and thrashed wrapping paper on the floor told him that he was never quite going to master this particular art.

So when Arthur walked in the door ten minutes later and found Merlin with his arms crossed, staring daggers at the mess on the table in front of him, he didn't question it. He clicked his tongue, shrugged out of his coat and gloves, took a seat across from him, then slid the half-wrapped monstrosity over to himself and got to work on it.

Merlin watched him, his eyes still narrowed in a fit of anger and frustration, as he threw the bad paper to the floor with the rest and then cut off a square of fresh paper, went about in silence folding the paper carefully, his fingers graceful in a way that none attributed to Arthur Pendragon, of all people, as he ripped off pieces of tape, folded the corners more, and then, not a moment later, slid the perfectly wrapped package back over to Merlin, the whole thing looking so wonderful and perfect that Merlin wanted to throw it at his head.

"You do the nametags and bows, all right? Think you can manage that?" Arthur teased, pushing the ribbons and nametags, a pen, over to Merlin. He made a mocking sort of face but filled out the nametag and stuck it on the package anyway. Bows, he could manage, so he went to work himself while Arthur continued wrapping the things from Merlin's pile, his hands working quicker than Merlin thought was humanly possible.

The silence was comforting, allowed Merlin a few moments to calm down and focus on tying the bows _just so_ instead of on that fact that Arthur was so much better at this than he was.

Arthur slid the final, perfectly wrapped package over to him and stood up, walked off to the kitchen as Merlin finished with the bows, yelling back to him that he was going to put some tea on to boil and that if Merlin wanted any he should come to the kitchen when he was finished, he had just wrapped those damn gifts and he would not risk Merlin and his clumsiness spilling tea all over them.

With the last nametag in place, the last bow tied perfectly, Merlin pushed back from the table, made his way into the kitchen just in time for Arthur to pour him a nice, steaming cup.

After his first sip, he pursed his lips, asked, "Why are you so good at that?"

"What, making tea?" Arthur asked in return, taking a sip before setting it down on the counter.

"No," Merlin rolled his eyes. "Wrapping… _things._ Doesn't really seem like something a Pendragon should know how to do."

"And what _should_ a Pendragon know how to do?" Arthur wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Seriously, Arthur,"

"I don't know, _Mer_lin," he shrugged. "Obviously my father is terrible at wrapping things, so Morgana was always in charge of all that growing up. But, once I started buying gifts myself, I didn't quite want her to know what I'd gotten her, and if I _dared_ to place anything short of perfection under that tree, she would unwrap it the second she saw it and redo it _her way._ So I had to learn how to do it without flaw or ruin the surprise for her. Looking back now, I don't know why I didn't just let her do it to begin with—sneaky bitch admitted to going through my things and finding her gifts anyway before I wrapped them—but… it was important to me that I know how to do it. Good thing, too, eh?" he nudged Merlin with a smile, frowned at the look of thought on his face.

"Look," Arthur sighed again, his cup on the counter once more as he wrapped his arms around Merlin from behind, rocking him slightly as he pressed a kiss to his temple. "If it's _that_ important to you, I can always just _teach_ you how to do it right." He offered.

And Merlin was _sure_ he didn't expect him to take him up on that offer, but they spent the rest of the evening at the dining room table anyway, Arthur trying to explain to him why he couldn't just cut the ends off and why they had to be folded _just so_ or else the whole thing would just fall apart.

Merlin was also sure that Arthur's frustration at having to wrap and _re_wrap miscellaneous items from around the house was almost as bad as his own had been that afternoon.

So when Merlin decided that they were done wrapping gifts for the evening and that Arthur needed to learn how to _properly_ tie a bow, and then proceeded to leave one in _quite_ the strategic sort of place as motivation—well…

He was sure all was forgiven.

**Fin.**

* * *

**I _do_ feel Merlin's pain; I am nineteen years old and this year I _still_ had to have my mother wrap my gifts for me because I just fucking suck at it. Seriously. **

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai**


	29. Secret Santa

**Disclaimer: **Sssh, no one needs to know that _Merlin_ is not a thing that I myself currently own. _No one._

* * *

_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 28: **_  
Secret Santa_

* * *

**Fic:**

Gwen, it was known, liked nothing more than to bring everyone together and make sure they all enjoyed the holiday season. Even though they were all well into their late twenties and early thirties, she liked to do silly little things to make sure they all had as much fun as they could with every holiday season that came and went. And the things she did were always a little… Out there, a bit young, perhaps, but they always did them, whether it be caroling, parties, snowball fights, snow art competitions, things of the such.

But she had never had them do something so… _Normal_.

"A secret Santa?" Gwaine asked, his eggnog frozen mid-air.

"Yes, a secret Santa," she beamed, nodding enthusiastically, threading her fingers with Lance's as everyone else looked on, not sure if she was serious or not.

Merlin almost wanted to laugh at the notion. A secret Santa. That meant, well, keeping things secret, and their group wasn't exactly well known for being able to keep things from each other. No, they'd always been too open, shared _too much_, some might say. And okay, maybe keeping the secret of who they were gifting to wouldn't be so hard if it was only for a couple of days, but December had barely started, she was asking them to keep the identity of who they were meant to buy for a secret for _weeks._

As though any of them might manage _that_.

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" Leon asked.

"Yeah, it's not like anyone here is the best at keeping secrets," Elyan nodded.

"Oh come on now," Morgana chided them all, silencing their worries and objections concerning the matter. "It's a lovely idea, and it should help us all in that department. Not being able to tell anyone who we're meant to buy things for should be great practice for us all. Establish some boundaries and all that," She smiled at Gwen, and that was the end of that.

Merlin wasn't too keen on the idea of setting up _boundaries_ between friends such as them—he had cringed at the suggestion, actually, Arthur's eyeroll and slight squeeze of his hand enough to assure him that he wasn't the only one not too keen on the idea—but everyone shortly wrote their name down on a slip of paper, nonetheless, and were drawing a different slip from a plastic bowl Gwen provided.

When it was Merlin's turn to draw a name, he was actually rather excited, wondering whom he might get. He had several different gifts in mind for the different people he might get—be it Gwen or Percival or Morgana or Leon or _whoever_—and maybe this wouldn't be such a terrible idea after all…

Disappointed wasn't quite the word Merlin would have used to describe what he was feeling when he pulled Arthur's name out of the damn bowl.

He loved Arthur—a lot—but he had been hoping for a _challenge_. He _lived_ with Arthur, already had his gift bought and wrapped, so he had… Been hoping for someone _different_. Maybe Elyan or Gwaine or even Morgana or _someone_.

But he couldn't exactly _trade _anyone—Gwen had already explained that one of the few rules, next to the fifty dollar limit, was that you _could not trade names with anyone_. The last, emphasized part, had been directed at Gwaine and his childish grin, Merlin knew, but that was neither here nor there—so. He would just have to make it work.

When he and Arthur walked into their home later that night, the scraps of paper were shoved deep into their pockets and forgotten about until they were emptying them of any important items, Merlin's caught with his keys and Arthur's tangled with his loose change.

"I got Percival—who'd you get?" Arthur asked, dropping the scrap of paper in front of Merlin when they sat down for a late night-snack. Merlin grinned, it'd only been a few hours and already Arthur was spilling who he'd picked out of the bowl. He was right, there were no secrets between them. Everyone would know who was buying for who by the end of the week, if they lasted that long.

"We're not supposed to talk about it, Arthur." He shook his head, jabbed him in the side in a sort of chastising manner.

"Ah, you got _me_, then," Arthur nodded, biting into his sandwich. And Merlin didn't even try to deny it, because Arthur would just see through his façade. He made a non-committal sound and took a sip of his tea. "Well, I look forward," he lowered his tone, though Merlin couldn't be sure _why_. "To seeing the sort of gift you might get me that'll be appropriate to give me in front of our friends," he chuckled at the blush that came over Merlin's features but left it at that, tucking into their half-meal and falling into casual conversation about nothing in particular.

When they were back in the kitchen later and Arthur was washing the dishes, handing them clean and wet to Merlin to dry and put away, he brought up the Secret Santas again.

"So I'm pretty sure Lance got you—the way he kept looking you over after he drew his name says he was either thinking about what to get you, or he wants to fuck you. With what you were wearing tonight, it could reasonably be either." He teased, flicking dish-soap onto Merlin's face with a grin.

Merlin whacked him back with the dishcloth, rolled his eyes. "I think Gwaine got Morgana—did you see that smirk on his face when he read his name? Perfect payback for her little stunt last year with that strap-on when his family was sitting _right there_."

"I thought we _weren't supposed to talk about it, Mer_lin,"

"Oh shut up; we all knew how well _that_ was going to work out." He rolled his eyes, continued the conversation in snippets well into the night as they went about their routines, then crawled into bed, the conversation only lulling once Arthur was pressing sweet, desperate kisses to Merlin's lips, jaw, collarbone in bed that night.

Despite their many reservations and the fact that everyone already _knew_ who everyone else had gotten, the gift exchange the day before Christmas Eve was actually, well, pretty awesome.

They had all been right in their assumptions, of course, but no one, not even _Gwen_, minded that much when they were exchanging gifts and laughing about the framed photo Gwaine was given of himself by Elyan, or the book on Arthurian legends Leon handed _Lancelot_, or anything else that was given that night. All that mattered was that Gwen's plan had _worked_; everyone was together and happy and enjoying themselves and the holiday season.

And, Merlin decided, that was better than any other gift Lance could have given him.

**Fin.**


	30. Christmas Movies

**Disclaimer: **Own _Merlin_, I do not.

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_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 29: **_  
Christmas Movies_

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**Fic:**

Christmas movies were a thing of tradition in many households. In Arthur and Merlin's, however, they were more than that, they were a lifetime of memories, they were a way of life, they were...

An argument.

Yes, if _anyone_ could manage to turn something as innocent as Christmas movies into an argument, it was Arthur and Merlin.

It wasn't to say that they _tried_ to take everything and turn it so one of them was right and the other was wrong, they just... Happened to have strong opinions on nearly everything there was to have an opinion on, and when Merlin made an innocent enough comment about "It's A Wonderful Life" being the best  
Christmas movie _ever_, Arthur just couldn't resist hitting back that _no_, it was "How The Grinch Stole Christmas."

"'How The Grinch Stole Christmas' is complete rubbish. Some green bloke covered in fur breaks into your house to steal your shit and no one even _thinks_ to call the cops? Yeah, that's _so_ believable." Merlin rolled his eyes, tugged the blanket he had wrapped around him closer.

They were settled in on the couch, just the pair of them, Merlin in his blanket and Arthur nursing a cup of tea. It was late, the sky light and pink with the promise of coming snow, and the house so full of their love and warmth that it was all Merlin could do not to fall asleep on the couch right then and there and just let Arthur win this one...

_But._

"Yes, because an _angel_ coming down from _Heaven_ to show you what life would be like without you just _screams_ reality," Arthur rolled his eyes back, muted the television, sat his cup down as he turned to face Merlin full on.

"It's more realistic than a scrawny dog with horns tied to their head pulling all that shit when the Grinch suddenly decides that, _yes,_ the Whos _can_ have Christmas after all!"

"What about 'A Charlie Brown Christmas'? That one's a classic!"

"You're forgetting 'Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer'!"

"Try_ intentionally leaving out._ That one's even more unbelievable than the angel one! _And_ it makes Santa come across as an opportunistic asshole. 'You're a freak, but you're useful, so I'm not gonna cull you this season.' _Really_ great message for children to hear!"

"How do you watch 'Rudolph' and hear that Santa's gonna have him put down? What was _wrong_ with you as a child that you would ever think that?"

"Hey, you've _met_ my father!"

And on it went, neither giving way in the debate of which Christmas movie was the best there ever was and ever would be.

After almost a solid hour of the argument—if it even _deserved_ to be called that, because, _really_, they were talking about Christmas movies made for _children—_Merlin finally sighed, exhausted with the energy he was putting into such a conversation. "Fine, there's only one way to settle this, then," he seethed through clenched teeth.

"Admit you're wrong so we can go have amazing make-up sex?"

"Uhm, _no_," Merlin shot him a look. "We've both got the weekend free, so let's just... Rent a bunch of them, watch them together, and decide once and for all which one is the best."

"_Fine_, sounds like a plan." Arthur smiled tightly.

Merlin knew that there were _many_ other things Arthur might rather do that weekend that _didn't_ involve children's movies, but he also knew that if Arthur turned down the opportunity to prove either of them right, he would be as good as recognizing his defeat.

So he accepted, and by the time Saturday rolled around, they had a stack of borrowed and rented and bought and found Christmas movies, had the kitchen stock-piled with easy to eat snacks and food of the sort that required little preparation.

And they went about their task.

Starting first thing in the morning that snowy, chilled morning in December, Arthur and Merlin settled in on the couch in their living room, snuggled together as "Miracle On 34th Street" began to play.

By Sunday night, as the credits to "The Polar Express" rolled by and they shook themselves out of their stupors, they were both in need of a shower and perhaps a meal not just heated up in the microwave, but they were both... Content. Happy. Warm. Christmasy.

It didn't matter, they decided, who was right and what movie was the best one to watch every holiday season; what _did_ matter was the time they spent together that weekend, kisses stolen between excitement and movies and snacks, legs tangled, hair mussed up, fingers laced, popcorn thrown...

No, perhaps, it had nothing to do with the movies. Perhaps it never did.

**Fin.**


	31. Silent Night

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is still a thing that is not owned by me, by you, by anyone really. Merlin is his own man, damnit, and you people need to _respect _that.

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_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 30: **_  
Silent Night_

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**Fic:**

The hardest night of winter, as far as Merlin was concerned, wasn't the longest night of the year, the coldest night, the night they were to fast to honor some age-old tradition, or anything of the such—for someone who claimed to reject the Old Religion, Merlin came to find out, Uther Pendragon sure did  
stick to a lot of traditions influenced by it.

No, the most difficult night of the winter, of the year, as far as Merlin was concerned, was the night everyone was to be silent.

_Dead_ silent.

No one was allowed to make a peep that night, that _one_ night out of the whole year, and God help you if you did.

And Merlin dreaded the night every year.

It meant no sassing Arthur, no insulting him, no giving him a hard time or teasing him about anything, no complaining, no flirting, no magic, no noise whatsoever.

Of course, it would be too much to ask for to have such a night off.

_No_, Arthur liked seeing him suffer too much to allow such a thing.

So, the second the tolling of the bells gave way to the night of silence and reflection starting, Merlin flinched, eyes closing for half a second before popping back open again to face a smirking Arthur. He held his armor in his hands, nodded towards it expectantly then laid it out on the table. Well, _obviously_ he wanted Merlin to clean it, but...

No noise meant he couldn't exactly_ tell him_ what he meant. And he thought Merlin was an idiot anyway, so he tilted his head, gave him a wide, innocent look, and blinked at him, not for a second missing the flash of irritation in Arthur's narrowed eyes as he mimed cleaning it, pointed at Merlin.

A night of silence meant Arthur couldn't yell at him, couldn't bark orders at him, couldn't insult him.

Perhaps a night of reverence wasn't the hell Merlin had always thought it to be, after all.

He walked over to Arthur, to the armor, pushed it to the other edge of the table. He was tempted to shove it off the table completely, but, he knew, if he _dared_ pull a stunt like that, it would be the stocks or the dungeon for God knows how long. Instead, he moved it just to the side of the table, gave Arthur a rather expectant look, hands held tightly behind his back, asking a silent, sarcastic question with just the quirk of his eyebrow.

Arthur rolled his eyes, laid his chainmail out on the table as well, but what was Merlin supposed to do with _that?_

A growl of irritation escaping his lips, Arthur narrowed his eyes. Merlin would be hearing about this first thing in the morning, after the night of silence was over and they were allowed to talk, allowed to make noise again, but tonight it didn't matter. Tonight, Arthur couldn't make noise, couldn't yell at him, couldn't  
be his usual prat self.

Merlin would be lying if he said he didn't like that sound of that. Well, _figuratively_ speaking, of course.

He spent the rest of the short evening playing the fool Arthur always accused him of being, tilting his head in silent question when he held something up, mimed out a task for Merlin to do for him, eyes wide in mock innocence and wonder; he just wasn't _getting_ it, he tried to convey with his eyes. And _oh,_ how Merlin wanted to laugh at the offended, pissed off look on Arthur's face.

It was just too much.

Composing himself long enough to help ready Arthur for bed, Merlin bit back a smirk, chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He was sure Arthur knew what he was doing, but of course, he couldn't quite confront him about it.

In fact, he couldn't confront him about _anything_ until morning. And morning, oh, _morning_ was a lifetime away.

So he took a chance. He took Arthur's face in one of his hands, gentle and sure, ignored the silent—ha!—question in his eyes and kissed him, the muffled sound of surprise coming from Arthur so loud in the quiet of the night.

The sigh that followed shortly after as Arthur leaned into the kiss, one hand coming up tug at Merlin's hair and make him gasp out, the quiet moaning as they melted together, their breathing shallow as their hands roamed and tugged, a stinging, blissful feeling welling up inside Merlin at the way Arthur was kissing him like he was all that ever mattered—it was all much too loud, much too _much_, in the silence between them.

So Merlin kissed him again, challenging the night reserved for thought and meditation, reverence and quiet, telling it that if it wanted him to be quiet and respect it, it shouldn't have left him alone with Arthur Pendragon, of all people.

Come morning, the hustle and bustle of the castle coming back to life would be stark against the quiet the pair created between them, filling the air with only the odd sigh or gasp brought on by stolen kisses, stray nips at bare skin.

Maybe the quietest night of the year wasn't quite as bad as Merlin had always thought it to be.

**Fin.**


	32. New Year's Eve

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Merlin. Last time I'll be saying that in this collection, too. Sad, sad moment for me, for us all.

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_31 Days of Christmas_

**Day 31: **_  
New Year's Eve_

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**Fic:**

They were all crowded in Merlin and Arthur's living room, watching on their television screen as the world, as their little corner of the world, counted down the remaining time of the previous year. In just a moment now, it would be a new year, a fresh start for everyone.

With champagne in their glasses with the coming year stamped on them festively, hats on their heads, decorations all strung up, the mood in the room was, of course, a little crazy. They were all too bubbly, all too happy, all too ready for the new year to start.

But none of them cared in the slightest.

It had been an amazing year for them all. Full of drama and tears and laughter and smiles and love and kisses and even a little heartache.

But damn if it wasn't all_ worth it_. And they were all ready for another year of it all, they were ready for whatever sort of adventures it would bring them.

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Morgana, Gwen, Lancelot, Leon, Arthur, and Merlin all counted down the seconds.

And when they got to zero, Merlin kissed Arthur hard and long, holding him close before pulling away to sip at his champagne, clink his glass against Arthur's and everyone else's when they managed to pull away from whoever they were kissing—Morgana for Leon, Gwen for Lance, Gwaine for Percival—or, in poor Elyan's case, just sip from his own glass while the others kissed.

The new one was going to be a joyous year indeed.

**Fin.**

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**Happy New Year, guys! I hope you all have an awesome one!**

**Always,  
Hisa-Ai.**


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